MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

BY    CLAUDE    TILLIER 

TRANSLATED    BY    ADELE    SZOLD    SELTZER 
ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   EMIL   PREETORIUS 


• 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
Boni  &  Liveright,  Inc. 

Second  Impression 


Printed  in  the  United  State*  of  America 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Who  My  Uncle  Was I 

II.     Why  My  Uncle  Decided  to  Marry 15 

III.  How  My  Uncle  Meets  an  Old  Sergeant 

and  a   Poodle   Dog,   Which   Prevents 

Him  from  Going  to  M.  Minxit's 25 

IV.  How  My  Uncle  Passed  Himself  Off  for 

the  Wandering  Jew 68 

V.     My  Uncle  Works  a  Miracle 76 

VI.     Monsieur  Minxit 81 

VII.     Conversation  at  M.  Minxit's  Dinner. ...  93 

VIII.     How  My  Uncle  Kissed  a  Marquis 109 

IX.     M.  Minxit  Prepares  for  War 123 

X.     How  My  Uncle  Made  the  Marquis  Kiss 

Him 133 

XL     How  My  Uncle  Helped  His  Tailor  to  At- 
tach His  Property 145 

XII.     How  My  Uncle  Hung  M.  Susurrans  to  a 

Hook  in  His  Kitchen 161 

XIII.  How  My  Uncle  Spent  the  Night  in  Prayer 

for  His  Sister's  Safe  Delivery 182 

XIV.  My  Uncle's  Speech  Before  the  Bailiff 193 


FRENOrf  ° 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.  How  Parlanta  Arrested  My  Uncle,  While 
Acting  as  Godfather,  and  Put  Him  in 
Prison 206 

XVI.     A  Breakfast  in  Prison — How  My  Uncle 

Got  Out  of  Prison 212 

XVII.     A  Trip  to  Corvol 227 

XVIII.     What  My  Uncle  Said  to  Himself  Regard- 
ing Duelling 239 

XIX.     How  My  Uncle  Thrice  Disarmed  M.  de 

Pont-Casse 261 

XX.     Abduction    and    Death    of    Mademoiselle 

Minxit 271 

XXI.     A  Final  Festival 279 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Claude  Tillier Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

M.  Rathery 10 

Rathery  at  Home  and  How  His  Sister  Tries  to 

Persuade  Him  to  Get  Married 14 

Page's  Banquet  and  the  Bloody  Duel  Between 

Rathery  and  Machecourt 18 

Mme.  Machecourt 26 

Rathery  and  Cicero  at  the  Seventh  Bottle  and  How 

Rathery  Meets  the  Sergeant 32 

M.  Machecourt 36 

M.  Duranton 44 

Rathery  Treacherously  Abandons  His  Sister  and 

Is  Found  by  Her  as  the  Wandering  Jew. ...  72 
How  Rathery  Cures  the  Peasant  and  Blesses  the 

Worshippers  80 

M.  Minxit 82 

Rathery  and  Minxit  and  How  Minxit  Conducts 

His  Examinations 90 

How  Rathery  Administers  His  Blessing  Again  and 

•Returns  Home  with  His  Sulking  Sister 106 

How  Minxit  Rouses  His  Troops  and  Is  Afterwards 

Quieted  by  Page 124 

Bonteint  at  Rathery's  and  How  Rathery  Gives  His 

Sister  a  Calling  Down 1 54 

M.  Page , 158 

i 


ii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Rathery,  Susurrans  and  Gaspard  at  the  Junket  and 
How  Rathery  Justifies  Himself  before  Mme. 
Susurrans 168 

Rathery  at  Prayer  and  How  He  Drinks  Mulled 

Wine 182 

How  My  Uncle  Defends  Himself  before  the  Bailiff 

and  Walks  Off  Triumphant 202 

How  Rathery  Takes  Leave  of  Arabella  and  the 
Jailer  Brings  Him  and  Machecourt  Two  Little 
Glasses  of  Wine 206 

M.  Rapin 212 

How  Arthus  Brings  Rathery  Breakfast  and  Minxit 

Brings  Hirm  Bonteint's  Discharge 224 

M.  de  Pont-Casse 232 

Rathery  on  His  Way  to  Sembert  and  How  He 

Overhears  Arabella  with  Her  Lover 236 

Mile.  Minxit 246 

Rathery  on  His  Way  Home  and  the  Interrupted 

Fencing  Lesson 258 

How  Rathery  Lectures  the  Vicomte  on  the  Nature 

of  the  Duel  and  Then  Disarms  Him 264 

How  Rathery  Catches  up  the  Fainting  Minxit  and 

Tries  in  Vain  to  Calm  Him 274 

Minxit  and  Rathery  in  the  Field  and  How  Rathery 

Repels  the  Priest 280 

M.  Millot  Rataut..  286 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 


CHAPTER    I 

WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS 

I  REALLY  do  not  know  why  human  beings  cling 
so  tenaciously  to  life.  What  great  pleasure  do  they 
find  in  this  vapid  Succession  of  days  and  nights,  of 
winter  and  spring?  Always  the  same  sky,  the  same 
sun;  always  the  same  green  pastures  and  the  same 
green  fields;  always  the  same  political  discussions, 
the  same  rogues  and  the  same  dupes.  If  this  is  the 
best  that  God  can  do,  he  is  a  sorry  workman.  The 
scene-shifter  at  the  Grand  Opera  can  do  better 
than  he. 

More  personalities,  you  say.  There  you  are  in- 
dulging in  personalities  against  God.  What  of  it? 
It  is  true  that  God  is  a  functionary,  and  a  high  func- 
tionary at  that,  although  his  office  is  not  a  sinecure. 
But  I  am  not  afraid  that  he  will  bring  suit  against 
me  for  damages,  and  build  a  church  with  the  pro- 
ceeds to  compensate  himself  for  the  injury  that  I 
may  have  done  his  honour. 

I  know  very  well  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  law 
are  more  sensitive  about  his  reputation  than  he  is 
himself.  But  that  is  exactly  what  I  regard  as  evil. 
By  what  title  do  these  men  in  black  arrogate  to 

i 


2  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

themselves  the  right  to  avenge  injuries  which  are 
wholly  personal  to  him?  Do  they  hold  a  power  of 
attorney  signed  "Jehovah"  giving  them  this  au- 
thority? 

Do  you  believe  that  he  is  highly  pleased  when  the 
police  magistrates  take  his  thunderbolts  in  their 
own  hands  and  hurl  them  brutally  at  some  poor 
devils  for  an  offence  of  a  few  syllables?  Moreover, 
what  proof  have  these  gentlemen  that  God  has  been 
offended?  There  he  is  in  the  court-room  fastened 
to  his  cross,  while  they  sit  comfortably  in  their  arm- 
chairs. Let  them  question  him.  If  he  answers  in  the 
affirmative,  I  will  admit  that  I  am  wrong.  Do  you 
know  why  he  has  overthrown  the  dynasty  of  the 
Capets,  that  ancient  august  salad  of  kings,  soaked 
through  and  through  with  holy  oil?  I  know,  and  I 
am  going  to  tell  you.  It  is  because  they  enacted  the 
law  against  sacrilege. 

But  this  is  not  to  the  point. 

What  is  it  to  live?  To  rise,  to  go  to  bed,  to 
breakfast,  to  dine,  and  begin  all  over  again  the  next 
day.  When  one  has  done  these  things  for  forty 
years,  it  finally  becomes  a  bore. 

Me/i  resemble  spectators,  some  sitting  on  velvet, 
others  on  bare  boards,  by  far  the  greater  number 
standing,  who  witness  the  same  drama  every  eve- 
ning, and  yawn  every  one  of  them  till  they  almost 
split  their  jaws.  They  all  agree  that  it  is  mortally 
tiresome  and  yet  no  one  is  willing  to  give  up  his 
place. 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  3 

To  live — is  it  worth  the  trouble  of  opening  one's 
eyes  for?  All  we  ever  do  is  but  a  beginning.  The 
house  we  build  is  for  our  heirs;  the  dressing- 
gown  we  so  fondly  pad  to  envelop  our  old  age  will 
be  made  into  swaddling  clothes  for  our  grandchil- 
dren. We  say  to  ourselves:  "There,  the  day  is 
ended!"  We  light  our  lamp,  we  poke  up  our  fire, 
we  get  ready  to  pass  a  pleasant  peaceful  evening  at 
the  corner  of  our  fireplace.  Ra-ta-ta !  Some  one  is 
knocking  at  the  door.  Who  is  there?  Death. 
We  must  go.  When  we  have  all  the  appetites  of 
youth,  when  our  blood  is  full  of  iron  and  alcohol, 
we  are  without  a  cent.  When  our  teeth  and  stomach 
are  gone,  we  are  millionaires.  We  have  barely  time 
to  say  to  a  woman,  "I  love  you."  At  our  second 
kiss  she  is  old  and  decrepit.  Empires  are  no  sooner 
consolidated  than  they  begin  to  crumble.  They  are 
like  those  ant-hills  which  the  poor  insects  build  with 
great  effort.  When  it  requires  but  one  grain  more 
to  finish  them,  an  ox  crushes  it  under  his  broad  foot 
or  a  cart  under  its  wheel.  What  you  call  the  vege- 
table layer  of  this  globe  is  but  a  heap  of  shrouds, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  them  laid  one  on  top  of 
the  other  by  successive  generations.  Those  great 
names  which  reverberate  in  men's  mouths,  the 
names  of  capitals,  monarchs,  and  generals,  are  but 
the  clattering  ruins  of  old  empires.  You  cannot  take 
a  step  without  raising  about  you  the  dust  of  a  thou- 
sand things  destroyed  before  they  were  finished. 

I   am   forty  years   old,    I   have   already  passed 


4  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

through  four  professions;  I  have  been  a  monitor,  a 
soldier,  a  school-teacher,  and  now  I  am  a  journalist. 
I  have  been  on  land  and  on  sea,  under  tents  and  by 
the  fireside,  behind  prison  bars  and  in  the  free  wide 
world;  I  have  obeyed  and  I  have  commanded;  I 
have  had  moments  of  wealth  and  years  of  poverty. 
I  have  been  loved  and  I  have  been  hated;  I  have 
been  applauded  and  I  have  been  ridiculed.  I  have 
been  a  son  and  a  father,  a  lover  and  a  husband;  I 
have  passed  through  the  season  of  flowers  and 
through  the  season  of  fruits,  as  the  poets  say.  In 
none  of  these  circumstances  have  I  found  any  reason 
to  congratulate  myself  on  being  enclosed  in  the  skin 
of  a  man  rather  than  in  that  of  a  wolf  or  a  fox,  or 
in  the  shell  of  an  oyster,  the  bark  of  a  tree,  or  the 
jacket  of  a  potato.  Perhaps  if  I  were  a  rich  man 
with  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  I  should 
think  differently. 

In  the  meantime,  my  opinion  is  that  a  man  is  a 
machine  made  expressly  for  suffering.  He  has  only 
five  senses  through  the  whole  surface  of  his  body. 
In  whatever  spot  he  is  pricked,  he  bleeds;  in  what- 
ever spot  he  is  burned,  he  gets  a  blister.  The  lungs, 
the  liver,  the  bowels  can  give  him  no  pleasure.  But 
the  lungs  become  inflamed  and  make  him  cough;  the 
liver  becomes  obstructed  and  throws  him  into  a 
fever;  the  bowels  gripe  and  give  him  the  colic. 
There  is  not  a  nerve,  a  muscle,  a  sinew  under  your 
skin  that  cannot  make  you  howl  with  pain. 

Your  machinery  is  thrown  out  of  gear  every  mo- 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  5 

ment  like  a  bad  pendulum.  You  raise  your  eyes  to 
heaven  to  invoke  it,  and  a  swallow's  dung  falls  into 
them  and  sears  them.  You  go  to  a  ball,  and  you 
sprain  your  ankle  and  have  to  be  carried  home  on  a 
stretcher.  To-day  you  are  a  great  writer,  a  great 
philosopher,  a  great  poet;  a  thread  in  your  brain 
snaps;  they  bleed  you,  put  ice  on  your  head — in 
vain — to-morrow  you  will  be  only  a  poor  madman. 

Sorrow  lurks  behind  all  your  pleasures;  you  are 
greedy  rats  whom  it  attracts  with  a  bit  of  savory 
bacon.  You  are  in  your  shady  garden,  and  cry  out, 
"Oh !  what  a  beautiful  rose !"  and  the  rose  pricks 
you;  "Oh!  what  a  beautiful  pear!"  there  is  a  wasp 
on  it,  and  the  pear  stings  you. 

You  say,  "God  has  made  us  to  serve  and  to  love 
him."  It  is  not  true.  He  has  made  us  to  suffer.  The 
man  who  does  not  suffer  is  a  badly-made  machine,  a 
defective  creature,  a  moral  cripple,  one  of  nature's 
abortions.  Death  is  not  only  the  end  of  life,  it  is 
its  cure.  One  is  nowhere  so  well  off  as  in  the  grave. 
If  you  believe  me,  you  will  order  a  coffin  instead  of 
a  new  overcoat.  It  is  the  only  garment  that  does 
not  make  you  feel  uncomfortable. 

You  may  take  what  I  have  said  to  you  as  phil- 
osophy or  as  paradox;  it  is  all  one  to  me,  I  assure 
you.  But  I  pray  you  at  least  to  accept  it  as  a  preface, 
for  I  could  not  make  you  a  better  one,  or  one  more 
suitable  to  the  sad  and  lamentable  story  which  I  am 
going  to  have  the  honour  to  relate  to  you. 

You  will  permit  me  to  trace  my  story  back  to  the 


6  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

second  generation,  as  they  do  in  the  funeral  oration 
over  a  prince,  or  a  hero.  Perhaps  you  will  not  lose 
thereby.  The  customs  of  that  time  were  worth  just 
as  much  as  ours.  The  people  carried  chains,  but 
they  danced  with  them,  and  made  them  rattle  like 
castanets. 

For,  mark  you,  gaiety  always  keeps  company  with 
servitude.  .It  is  a  blessing  for  those  who  are  subject 
to  a  master,  or  who  are  under  the  hard  and  heavy 
hand  of  poverty.  He  has  given  them  this  blessing 
as  consolation  for  their  miseries,  just  as  he  has  made 
certain  grasses  to  grow  between  the  pavements  that 
we  tread  under  our  feet,  certain  birds  to  sing  on 
the  old  towers,  and  the  beautiful  verdure  of  the  ivy 
to  smile  qn  wry-faced,  tumble-down  hovels. 

Gaiety  flies,  like  the  swallow,  above  the  splendid 
roofs  of  the  great.  It  stops  in  the  schoolyards,  at 
the  doors  of  barracks,  on  the  mouldy  flaggings  of 
prisons.  It  alights  like  a  beautiful  butterfly  on  the 
pen  of  a  schoolboy  scrawling  his  exercises  in  his 
copybook.  It  hobnobs  at  the  canteen  with  the  old 
grenadiers.  And  never  does  it  sing  so  loud — pro- 
vided they  let  it  sing — as  between  the  dark  walls  in 
which  they  shut  up  the  unfortunates. 

Besides,  the  gaiety  of  the  poor  is  a  sort  of 
pride.  I  have  been  poor  among  the  poorest.  Well, 
I  found  pleasure  in  saying  to  fortune,  "I  will  not  bend 
under  your  hand;  I  will  eat  my  hard  crust  as  proudly 
as  the  dictator  Fabricius  ate  his  radishes;  I  will  wear 
my  poverty  as  kings  wear  their  diadem.  Strike  as 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  7 

hard  as  you  like,  and  strike  again — I  will  answer 
your  blows  with  sarcasms;  I  will  be  like  the  tree  that 
puts  forth  flowers  while  they  are  cutting  at  its  roots ; 
like  the  column  whose  metal  eagle  shines  in  the  sun 
while  the  pick  is  at  its  base." 

Dear  readers,  be  content  with  these  explanations; 
I  can  furnish  you  none  more  reasonable. 

What  a  difference  between  that  age  and  ours! 
The  man  of  the  constitutional  regime  cannot  laugh, 
he  is  absolutely  incapable  of  fun. 

He  is  hypocritical,  avaricious,  and  profoundly 
selfish.  Whatever  question  strikes  against  his  brow, 
his  brow  rings  like  a  drawer  full  of  big  pennies. 

He  is  pretentious  and  bloated  with  vanity.  The 
grocer  calls  the  confectioner  his  neighbour,  his  hon- 
ourable friend,  and  the  confectioner  begs  the  grocer 
to  accept  the  assurance  of  the  distinguished  consid- 
eration with  which  he  has  the  honour  to  be,  etc.,  etc. 

The  man  of  the  constitutional  regime  has  a  mania 
for  wishing  to  distinguish  himself  from  the  people. 
The  father  wears  a  blue  cotton  blouse  and  the  son 
an  Elbeuf  cloak.  No  sacrifice  is  too  costly  to  the 
man  of  the  constitutional  regime  to  satisfy  his  mania 
for  appearing  to  be  somebody.  He  lives  on  bread 
and  water,  he  dispenses  with  fire  in  winter  and  beer 
in  summer,  in  order  to  have  a  coat  made  of  fine 
cloth,  a  cashmere  waistcoat,  and  yellow  gloves. 
When  others  regard  him  as  respectable,  he  regards 
himself  as  great. 

He  is  stiff  and  formal;  he  does  not  raise  his  voice, 


8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

he  does  not  laugh  aloud,  he  does  not  know  where  to 
spit.  His  gestures  are  all  alike.  He  says  very 
promptly,  "How  do  you  do,  sir."  "How  do  you  do, 
madam."  That  is  good  behavior.  Now,  what  is 
good  behavior?  A  lying  varnish  spread  on  a  piece  of 
wood  to  make  it  pass  for  a  cane.  One  must  behave 
that  way  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies.  Very  well; 
but  how  must  one  behave  in  the  presence  of  God? 

He  is  pedantic,  he  makes  up  for  lack  of  wit  by 
purism  of  language,  as  a  good  housewife  makes  up 
for  lack  of  furniture  by  order  and  cleanliness. 

He  is  always  oh  a  low  diet.  If  he  attends  a  ban- 
quet, he  is  silent  and  preoccupied,  he  swallows  a 
cork  for  a  piece  of  bread,  and  uses  the  cream  for  the 
white  sauce.  He  waits  till  a  toast  is  proposed  before 
he  drinks.  He  always  has  a  newspaper  in  his  pocket, 
he  talks  only  of  commercial  treaties  and  railway 
lines,  and  laughs  only  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 

But  at  the  period  to  which  I  take  you  back  the  cus- 
toms of  the  little  towns  were  not  yet  glossed  over 
with  elegance;  they  were  full  of  a  charming  ease  and 
freedom  and  a  lovely  simplicity. 

The  characteristic  of  that  happy  age  was  uncon- 
cern. All  these  men,  whether  ships  or  nutshells, 
abandoned  themselves  with  closed  eyes  to  the  cur- 
rent of  life,  without  troubling  where  they  would  land. 

The  bourgeois  were  not  office-seekers;  they  did 
not  hoard  money;  they  lived  at  home  in  joyous 
abundance,  and  spent  their  incomes  to  the  last  louis. 
The  merchants,  few  in  number  then,  grew  rich 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  9 

slowly,  without  doing  very  much,  and  only  in  the 
natural  order  of  things.  The  labourers  worked,  not 
to  amass  savings,  but  to  make  both  ends  meet.  They 
had  not  at  their  heels  that  terrible  competition  which 
drives  us,  and  cries  to  us  incessantly:  "Onl  On!" 
Consequently  they  took  their  ease.  They  had  sup- 
ported their  fathers,  and,  when  they  were  old,  their 
children  in  turn  would  support  them. 

Such  was  the  ease  and  unconstraint  of  this  society 
that  all  the  lawyers  and  even  the  judges  went  to  the 
tavern,  and  there  publicly  indulged  in  orgies.  To 
prevent  it  from  being  unknown  they  would  gladly 
have  hung  their  caps  on  the  tavern  sign.  All  these 
people,  great  and  small  alike,  seemed  to  have  no 
other  business  than  to  amuse  themselves.  They  ex- 
ercised their  ingenuity  in  playing  some  good  joke  or 
in  concocting  some  good  story.  Those  who  then 
had  wit,  instead  of  expending  it  in  intrigues,  ex- 
pended it  in  pleasantries. 

The  idlers,  and  there  were  many  of  them,  gath- 
ered in  the  public  square.  The  market-days  were 
days  of  fun  for  them.  The  peasants  who  came  to 
bring  their  provisions  to  the  town  were  their  vic- 
tims, on  whom  they  played  the  funniest,  cleverest 
practical  jokes.  All  the  neighbours  flocked  there  for 
their  part  of  the  show.  The  police  magistrates  to- 
day would  regard  such  things  as  matters  to  be  prose- 
cuted, but  the  court  officials  of  that  time  enjoyed  these 
burlesque  scenes  as  well  as  anybody,  and  often  took 
part  in  them. 


io  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

My  grandfather  was  a  process-server.  My  grand- 
mother was  a  little  woman  who  was  teased  for  not 
being  able  to  see  whether  the  holy-water  basin  in 
church  was  full.  She  has  remained  in  my  memory 
as  a  little  girl  of  sixty.  By  the  time  she  had  been 
married  six  years,  she  had  five  children,  some  boys 
and  some  girls.  They  all  lived  on  my  grandfather's 
miserable  fees  and  got  along  marvellously  well.  The 
seven  of  them  dined  off  three  herrings,  but  they  had 
plenty  of  bread  and  wine,  for  my  grandfather  had 
a  vineyard  which  was  an  inexhaustible  source  of  white 
wine.  All  these  children  were  utilized  by  my  grand- 
mother according  to  their  age  and  strength.  The 
oldest,  who  was  my  father,  was  named  Gaspard. 
He  washed  the  dishes  and  went  to  the  butcher 
shop.  There  was  no  poodle  in  the  town  better  tamed 
than  he.  The  next  to  oldest  child  swept  the  room. 
The  third  child  held  the  fourth  in  his  arms.  And 
the  fifth  rocked  in  its  cradk.  Meantime  my  grand- 
mother was  at  church,  or  at  her  neighbour's,  chat- 
ting. All  went  well,  however;  they  managed,  so-so, 
to  reach  the  end  of  the  year  without  getting  into 
debt  The  boys  were  strong,  the  girls  were  not 
bad-looking,  and  the  father  and  mother  were 
happy. 

My  uncle  Benjamin  lived  at  his  sister's.  He  was 
five  feet  ten  inches  in  height,  carried  a  big  sword  at 
his  side,  and  wore  a  coat  of  scarlet  ratteen,  breeches 
of  the  same  colour  and  material,  pearl-grey  silk  stock- 
ings, and  shoes  with  silver  buckles.  Over  his  coat 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  1 1 

hung  a  large  black  queue  almost  as  long  as  his  sword. 
It  kept  bobbing  about  and  covered  him  with  powder, 
so  that  his  coat,  with  its  shades  of  red  and  white, 
looked  like  an  unbaked  brick.  My  uncle  was  a  doc- 
tor. That's  why  he  carried  a  sword.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  patients  had  much  confidence  in  him,  but 
he,  Benjamin,  had  very  little  confidence  in  medicine. 
He  often  said  that  a  doctor  did  very  well  if  he  did 
not  kill  his  patient.  Whenever  my  uncle  Benjamin 
got  a  franc  or  two,  he  went  to  buy  a  big  fish  and 
gave  it  to  his  sister  to  make  a  chowder,  upon  which 
the  entire  family  feasted.  My  uncle  Benjamin,  ac- 
cording to  all  who  knew  him,  was  the  gayest,  fun- 
niest, wittiest  man  in  all  the  country  round,  and  he 
would  have  been  the  most — how  shall  I  say  it  with- 
out failing  in  respect  to  my  great  uncle's  memory? — 
he  would  have  been  the  least  sober,  if  the  town 
drummer,  named  Cicero,  had  not  shared  his  glory. 
Nevertheless  my  Uncle  Benjamin  was  not  what  you 
lightly  term  a  drunkard,  make  no  mistake  about  that. 
He  was  an  epicurean  who  pushed  philosophy  to  the 
point  of  intoxication — that  was  all.  He  had  a  su- 
premely elevated  and  noble  stomach.  He  loved  wine, 
not  for  itself,  but  for  the  short-lived  madness  which 
it  brings,  a  madness  which  makes  a  man  of  wit  talk 
nonsense  in  so  naive,  piquant,  and  original  a  way  that 
one  would  like  to  talk.that  way  always.  If  he  could 
have  intoxicated  himself  by  reading  the  mass,  he 
would  have  read  the  mass  every  day.  My  uncle 
Benjamin  had  principles.  He  maintained  that  a  fast- 


12  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

ing  man  was  a  man  still  asleep;  that  intoxication 
would  have  been  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  the 
Creator,  if  it  did  not  cause  headache,  and  that  the 
only  thing  that  made  man  superior  to  the  brute  was 
the  faculty  of  getting  drunk. 

Reason,  said  my  uncle,  is  nothing.  It  is  simply 
the  power  of  feeling  present  evils  and  remembering 
past  ones.  The  privilege  of  renouncing  one's  rea- 
son— that's  something.  You  say  that  the  man  who 
drowns  his  reason  in  wine  brutalizes  himself.  It  is 
the  pride  of  caste  that  makes  you  think  so.  Do  you 
really  believe  that  the  condition  of  the  brute  is 
worse  than  your  own?  When  you  are  tormented  by 
hunger,  you  would  like  very  much  to  be  the  ox  that 
grazes  in  grass  up  to  his  belly.  When  you  are  in 
prison,  you  would  like  very  much  to  be  the  bird  that 
cleaves  the  azure  of  the  skies  with  a  free  wing. 
When  you  are  on  the  point  of  being  dispossessed, 
you  would  like  very  much  to  be  the  ugly  snail  whose 
right  to  its  shell  no  one  ever  disputes. 

The  equality  of  which  you  dream,  the  brute  pos- 
sesses. In  the  forests  there  are  neither  kings,  nor 
nobles,  nor  a  third  estate.  The  problem  of  com- 
munal life  which  your  philosophers  seek  in  vain  to 
unravel  was  solved  thousands  of  centuries  ago  by  the 
poor  insects,  the  ants,  and  the  bees.  The  animals 
have  no  doctors;  they  are  neither  blind,  nor  hump- 
backed, nor  lame,  nor  bow-legged,  and  they  have  no 
fear  of  hell. 

My  uncle  Benjamin  was  twenty-eight  years  old 


WHO  MY  UNCLE  WAS  13 

He  had  been  practising  medicine  for  three  years,  but 
medicine  brought  him  no  income,  far  from  it.  He 
owed  his  tailor  for  three  scarlet  coats  and  his  bar- 
ber for  three  years  of  hair-dressing,  and  in  each  of 
the  most  famous  taverns  of  the  town  he  had  a  pretty 
little  account  running,  with  nothing  on  the  credit  side 
but  a  few  drugs. 

My  grandmother  was  three  years  older  than  Ben- 
jamin. She  had  rocked  him  on  her  knees  and  car- 
ried him  in  her  arms,  and  she  looked  upon  herself 
as  his  mentor.  She  bought  his  cravats  and  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  mended  his  shirts  and  gave  him  good 
advice,  to  which — we  must  do  him  this  justice — he 
listened  very  attentively,  but  of  which  he  did  not 
make  the  slightest  use. 

Every  evening  regularly,  after  supper,  she  urged 
him  to  get  married. 

"Faugh!"  said  Benjamin.  "To  have  six  children 
like  Machecourt" — that  was  the  way  he  called  my 
grandfather — "and  dine  off  the  fins  of  a  her- 
ring?" 

"But,  you  pauper,  you  would  at  least  have  bread." 

"Yes,  bread,  which  will  rise  too  much  to-day,  not 
enough  to-morrow,  and  the  day  after  will  have  the 
measles!  Bread!  What  is  bread?  It  is  good  to  keep 
one  from  dying,  but  it  is  not  good  to  keep  one  living. 
I  shall  be  far  gone  indeed  when  I  shall  have  a 
wife  to  tell  me  that  I  put  too  much  sugar  in  my  vials 
and  too  much  powder  on  my  queue,  to  come  to  look 
for  me  at  the  tavern,  to  go  through  my  pockets 


I4  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

when  I  am  asleep,  and  to  buy  three  cloaks  for  her- 
self to  one  coat  that  I  buy  for  myself." 

"But  your  creditors,  Benjamin,  how  are  you  going 
to  pay  them?" 

"In  the  first  place,  as  long  as  one  has  credit,  it  is 
the  same  as  if  he  were  rich,  and  when  your  creditors 
are  kneaded  of  the  right  kind  of  dough,  if  they  are 
patient,  it  is  the  same  as  if  you  had  none.  Besides, 
what  do  I  need  to  enable  me  to  square  my  accounts? 
A  first-class  epidemic.  God  is  good,  my  dear  sister, 
and  will  not  leave  a  man  who  repairs  his  finest  work 
in  embarrassment." 

"Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "and  a  man  who  puts 
it  so  out  of  commission  that  it  has  to  be  buried  in  the 
ground." 

"Well,''  replied  my  uncle,  "that  is  the  good  of  doc- 
tors; without  them  the  world  would  be  too  popu- 
lous. Of  what  use  would  it  be  for  God  to  take  the 
trouble  to  send  us  diseases  if  men  could  be  found  to 
cure  them?" 

"In  that  case  you  are  a  dishonest  man;  you  rob 
those  who  send  for  you." 

"No,  I  do  not  rob  them,  because  I  reassure  them, 
I  give  them  hope,  and  I  always  find  a  way  to  make 
them  laugh.  That  is  worth  a  good  deal." 

My  grandmother,  seeing  that  the  subject  of  the 
conversation  had  changed,  decided  to  drop  off  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHY   MY    UNCLE   DECIDED   TO   MARRY 

A  TERRIBLE  catastrophe,  of  which  I  shall  have 
the  honour  to  tell  you  presently,  shook  Benjamin's 
resolutions. 

One  day  my  cousin  Page,  a  lawyer  in  the  baili- 
wick of  Clamecy,  came  and  invited  him  and  Mache- 
court  to  a  celebration  of  Saint  Yves.  The  dinner 
was  to  take  place  at  a  well-known  tavern  within  two 
gun-shots  of  the  faubourg.  The  guests  were  a  se- 
lect party.  Benjamin  would  not  have  given  that  even- 
ing for  a  whole  week  of  his  ordinary  life.  So  after 
vespers,  my  grandfather,  dressed  in  his  wedding  coat, 
and  my  uncle  with  his  sword  at  his  side,  presented 
themselves  at  the  rendezvous. 

Almost  all  the  guests  were  already  assembled. 
Saint  Yves  was  magnificently  represented  in  the  gath- 
ering. In  the  first  place,  lawyer  Page  was  there, 
who  never  pleaded  a  case  except  between  two  glasses 
of  wine;  and  then  there  was  the  clerk  of  the  court, 
who  had  learned  to  write  while  asleep;  and  the  gov- 
ernment attorney  Rapin,  who  had  received  a  half 
hogshead  of  sour  wine  from  a  litigant,  and  then 
had  him  summoned  to  appear  at  court  so  as  to  get  a 


i6 

better  one;  and  the  notary  Arthus,  who  had  once 
eaten  a  whole  salmon  for  his  dessert;  Millot- 
Rataut,  poet  and  tailor,  author  of  Grand  Noel;  an 
old  architect,  who  had  not  been  sober  for  twenty 
years;  M.  Minxit,  a  doctor  of  the  neighbourhood, 
who  examined  urines;  two  or  three  prominent  busi- 
ness men — prominent  for  their  gaiety  and  appe- 
tite; and  some  sportsmen,  who  had  provided  the 
table  with  an  abundance  of  game.  At  sight  of  Benja- 
min all  the  guests  uttered  a  shout  of  welcome,  and 
declared  it  was  time  to  sit  down  to  table.  Dur- 
ing the  first  two  courses  all  went  well.  My  uncle  was 
charming  with  his  wit  and  his  sallies.  But  at  des- 
sert the  heads  grew  heated;  all  commenced  shouting 
at  once.  Soon  the  conversation  was  nothing  but  a 
confusion  of  epigrams,  oaths,  and  sallies,  bursting 
out  together  and  trying  to  stifle  each  other,  the  whole 
making  a  noise  like  that  of  a  dozen  glasses  striking 
against  each  other  simultaneously. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  Page,  the  lawyer,  "I  must  en- 
tertain you  with  my  last  speech  in  court.  The  case 
was  this.  Two  donkeys  had  got  into  a  fight  in  a 
meadow.  The  owner  of  one,  good-for-nothing 
scamp  that  he  was,  ran,  took  a  stick  and  beat  the 
other  donkey.  But  this  quadruped  would  not 
stand  for  it,  and  bit  our  man  on  his  little  finger. 
The  owner  of  the  donkey  that  inflicted  the  bite  was 
cited  before  the  bailiff  as  responsible  for  the  doings 
of  his  beast. 

"I  was  counsel  for  the  defendant.     'Before  com- 


WHY  MY  UNCLE  DECIDED  TO  MARRY  17 

ing  to  the  question  of  fact,'  said  I  to  the  bailiff,  'I 
must  enlighten  you  as  to  the  moral  character  of  the 
donkey  that  I  defend  and  of  that  of  the  plaintiff. 
Our  donkey  is  an  entirely  inoffensive  quadruped;  he 
enjoys  the  esteem  of  all  who  know  him,  and  the  town 
constable  holds  him  in  high  regard.  Now,  I  defy 
the  man  who  is  our  adversary  to  say  as  much  of  his. 
Our  donkey  is  the  bearer  of  a  certificate  from  the 
mayor  of  his  commune' — this  certificate  really 
existed — 'which  testifies  to  his  morality  and  good 
conduct.  If  the  plaintiff  can  produce  a  like  certifi- 
cate, we  will  consent  to  pay  him  three  thousand 
francs  damages.'  ' 

"May  Saint  Yves  bless  you!"  said  my  uncle. 
"Now  the  poet,  Millot-Rataut,  must  sing  us  his 
Grand  Noel : 

'Down  on  your  knees,   O   Christians,   down !' 

"That  is  eminently  lyrical.  No  one  but  the  Holy 
Spirit  could  have  inspired  that  beautiful  line." 

"I  should  like  to  see  you  do  as  much,"  cried  the 
tailor,  who  was  very  irascible  under  the  influence  of 
Burgundy. 

"I  am  not  so  stupid,"  answered  my  uncle. 

"Silence!"  interrupted  Page,  the  lawyer,  striking 
on  the  table  with  all  his  might.  "I  declare  to  the 
court  that  I  wish  to  finish  my  plea." 

"Directly,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  are  not  drunk 
enough  yet  to  plead." 


1 8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"And  I  tell  you  I  will  plead  now.  Who  are 
you,  old  five-foot-ten,  to  prevent  a  lawyer  from  talk- 
ing?" 

"Be  careful,  Page,"  exclaimed  Arthus,  the  notary, 
"you  are  only  a  man  of  the  pen,  and  you  are  dealing 
with  a  man  of  the  sword." 

"It  is  quite  becoming  to  you,  a  man  of  the  fork 
and  a  devourer  of  salmon,  to  talk  of  men  of  the 
sword.  Before  you  could  frighten  anybody,  he 
would  have  to  be  cooked." 

"Benjamin  is  really  terrible,"  said  the  architect. 
"He  is  like  the  lion;  at  one  stroke  of  his  queue  he 
can  knock  a  man  down." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  my  grandfather,  rising,  "I  will 
answer  for  my  brother-in-law.  He  has  never  shed 
blood  except  with  his  lancet." 

"Do  you  really  dare  to  maintain  that,  Mache- 
court?" 

"And  you,  Benjamin,  do  you  really  dare  to  main- 
tain the  contrary?" 

"Then  you  shall  give  me  satisfaction  on  the  in- 
stant for  this  insult;  and,  as  we  have  but  one  sword 
here,  which  is  mine,  I  will  keep  the  scabbard,  and 
you  shall  take  the  blade." 

My  grandfather,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
brother-in-law,  did  not  want  to  contradict  him,  and 
so  accepted  the  proposition.  As  the  two  adversaries 
rose,  Page,  the  lawyer,  said: 

"One  moment,  gentlemen.  We  must  fix  the  condi- 
tions of  the  combat.  I  propose  that  each  of  the  two 


WHY  MY  UNCLE  DECIDED  TO  MARRY   19 

adversaries  shall  hold  on  to  the  arm  of  his  second, 
in  order  that  he  may  not  fall  before  it  is  time." 

"Agreed!"  cried  all  the  guests. 

Benjamin  and  Machecourt  stood  face  to  face. 

"Are  you  there,  Benjamin?" 

"And  you,  Machecourt?" 

With  the  first  stroke  of  his  sword  my  grandfather 
cut  Benjamin's  scabbard  in  two  as  if  it  had  been  an 
oyster  plant,  and  made  a  gash  upon  his  wrist,  which 
must  have  reduced  him  to  drink  with  his  left  hand 
for  at  least  a  week. 

"The  clumsy  fellow!"  cried  Benjamin.  "He  has 
cut  me." 

"Well,"  answered  my  grandfather,  with  charm- 
ing simplicity,  "why  have  you  a  sword  that  cuts?" 

"All  the  same,  I  still  want  my  revenge;  and  the 
half  of  this  scabbard  I  have  left  is  enough  to  make 
you  beg  my  pardon." 

"No,  Benjamin,"  rejoined  my  grandfather,  "it  is 
your  turn  to  take  the  sword.  If  you  stick  me,  we 
shall  be  even,  and  we  will  quit  playing." 

The  guests,  sobered  by  the  accident,  wanted  to  re- 
turn to  town. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  cried  Benjamin,  in  his  sten- 
torian voice,  "let  each  one  return  to  his  seat.  I  have 
a  proposition  to  make  to  you.  Considering  that  it 
was  his  first  attempt,  Machecourt  has  conducted  him- 
self most  brilliantly.  He  is  in  a  position  to  measure 
himself  against  the  most  murderous  of  barbers,  pro- 
vided the  latter  will  yield  him  the  sword  and  keep 


20  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

the  scabbard.  I  propose  that  we  name  him  fencing- 
master.  It  is  only  on  this  condition  that  I  consent 
to  let  him  live.  If  you  indorse  my  opinion,  I  will 
even  force  myself  to  offer  him  my  left  hand,  inas- 
much as  he  has  disabled  the  other." 

"Benjamin  is  right,"  cried  a  multitude  of  voices. 
"Bravo,  Benjamin.  Machecourt  must  be  made  fenc- 
ing-master." 

And  each  one  ran  to  his  seat,  and  Benjamin  or- 
dered a  second  dessert. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  the  accident  spread  to 
Clamecy.  In  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth,  it  grew 
marvellously,  and  by  the  time  it  reached  my  grand- 
mother, it  had  taken  on  the  gigantic  proportions  of  a 
murder  committed  by  her  husband  upon  the  person 
of  her  brother. 

In  the  less  than  five  feet  of  my  grandmother's 
figure  there  dwelt  a  character  full  of  firmness  and 
energy.  She  did  not  go  screaming  and  crying  to  her 
neighbours  and  have  vinegar  thrown  on  her  face. 
With  that  presence  of  mind  which  grief  imparts  to 
strong  souls,  she  saw  at  once  what  she  had  to  do.  She 
put  her  children  to  bed,  took  all  the  money  there 
was  in  the  house  and  the  few  jewels  that  she  pos- 
sessed, in  order  to  supply  her  husband  with  means 
to  leave  the  country,  if  that  should  be  neces- 
sary; made  up  a  bundle  of  linen  for  bandages  and 
of  lint  to  staunch  the  wounds  of  the  injured  man 
in  case  he  should  still  be  alive;  took  a  mattress  from 
her  bed,  and  asked  a  neighbour  to  follow  her  with  it; 


WHY  MY  UNCLE  DECIDED  TO  MARRY  21 

and  then,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cloak,  she  started 
without  faltering  for  the  fatal  tea-garden.  On  en- 
tering the  faubourg,  she  met  her  husband,  whom  they 
were  bringing  back  in  triumph,  crowned  with  corks. 
Benjamin,  on  whose  left  arm  he  was  supported,  was 
crying  at  the  top  of  his  voice  :  "Know  all  men  by  these 
presents,  that  Monsieur  Machecourt,  verger  to  his 
Majesty,  has  just  been  appointed  fencing-master,  in 
recognition  of " 

"Dog  of  a  drunkard!"  cried  my  grandmother,  on 
seeing  Benjamin;  and,  unable  to  resist  the  emotion 
that  had  been  stifling  her  for  an  hour,  she  fell  upon 
the  pavement.  They  had  to  carry  her  home  on  the 
mattress  which  she  had  intended  for  her  brother. 

As  for  Benjamin,  he  forgot  his  wound  until  the 
next  morning  when  putting  on  his  coat;  but  his 
sister  had  a  high  fever.  She  was  dangerously  ill 
for  a  week,  and  during  the  entire  time  Benjamin 
did  not  leave  her  bedside.  When  she  could  listen 
to  him  at  last,  he  promised  her  that  henceforth  he 
would  lead  a  more  regular  life,  and  said  he  was 
seriously  thinking  of  paying  his  debts  and  marry- 
ing. 

My  grandmother  soon  recovered.  She  charged 
her  husband  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  wife  for  Ben- 
jamin. 

Some  time  after  that,  one  evening  in  November, 
my  grandfather  came  home,  splashed  to  his  neck, 
but  radiant. 

"I  have  found  something  far  better  than  we  ex- 


22  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

pected,"  cried  the  excellent  man,  clasping  his  brother- 
in-law's  hands.  "Now,  Benjamin,  you  are  rich;  you 
shall  be  able  to  eat  as  many  matelotes  as  you  like." 

"What  have  you  found?"  asked  my  grandmother 
and  Benjamin  at  the  same  time. 

"An  only  daughter,  a  rich  heiress,  the  daughter 
of  Minxit,  with  whom  we  celebrated  Saint  Yves  a 
month  ago." 

"What,  that  village  doctor  who  examines 
urines?" 

"Precisely.  He  accepts  you  unconditionally;  he 
is  charmed  with  your  wit;  he  believes  you  are  well 
fitted,  by  your  manner  and  your  eloquence,  to  aid 
him  in  his  profession." 

"The  devil!"  said  Benjamin,  scratching  his  head, 
"I  am  not  anxious  to  examine  urines." 

"Oh,  you  big  simpleton!  Once  you  are  father 
Minxit's  son-in-law,  you  can  tell  him  and  his  vials  to 
go  hang,  and  bring  your  wife  to  Clamecy." 

"Yes,  but  Mademoiselle  Minxit  has  red  hair." 

"She  is  only  blonde,  Benjamin,  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honour." 

"She  is  so  freckled  one  would  say  a  handful  of 
bran  had  been  thrown  in  her  face." 

"I  saw  her  this  evening.  I  assure  you  she  has 
hardly  any  freckles  at  all." 

"Besides,  she  is  five  feet  three  inches  tall.  I  really 
am  afraid  of  spoiling  the  human  race.  We  shall  have 
children  as  tall  as  bean-poles." 

"Oh,  those  are  only  stupid  jokes,"  said  my  grand- 


mother.  "I  met  your  tailor  yesterday,  and  he  abso- 
lutely insists  on  being  paid;  and  you  know  very  well 
your  barber  will  not  dress  your  hair  any  more." 

"So  you  wish  me,  my  dear  sister,  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Minxit?  But  you  do  not  know  what  that 
means,  Minxit.  And  you,  Machecourt,  do  you 
know?" 

"To  be  sure  I  know.     It  means  father  Minxit." 

"Have  you  read  Horace,  Machecourt?" 

"No,  Benjamin." 

"Well,  Horace  says :  Num  minxit  patrios  cineres. 
It  is  that  confounded  preterit  that  revolts  me.  Be- 
sides, my  dear  sister  is  no  longer  sick.  M.  Minxit, 
Mme.  Minxit,  M.  Rathery  Benjamin  Minxit,  little 
Jean  Rathery  Minxit,  little  Pierre  Rathery  Minxit, 
little  Adele  Rathery  Minxit.  Why,  in  our  family 
there  will  be  enough  to  turn  a  mill.  And  then,  to  be 
frank  about  it,  I  hardly  care  to  marry.  It  is  true 
there  is  a  song  that  says : 

.  .  .  'What  happiness 

Within  the  bonds  of  married  life !' 

But  this  song  does  not  know  what  it  sings.  It  must 
have  been  written  by  a  bachelor. 

.  .  .  'What  happiness 

Within  the  bonds  of  married  life !' 

That  would  be  all  right,  Machecourt,  if  a  man  were 
free  to  choose  a  companion  for  himself;  but  the 
necessities  of  social  life  always  force  us  to  marry  in 


24  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

a  ridiculous  way  and  contrary  to  our  inclinations. 
The  man  marries  a  dowry,  and  the  woman  a  pro- 
fession. Then,  after  all  the  fine  Sundays  of  their 
honeymoon,  they  return  to  the  solitude  of  their  house- 
hold, only  to  see  that  they  do  not  suit  each  other. 
One  is  stingy  and  the  other  extravagant;  the  wife  is 
coquettish  and  the  husband  jealous;  one  loves  like  a 
tempest  and  the  other  like  a  gentle  breeze;  they 
would  like  to  be  a  thousand  miles  apart,  but  they 
have  to  live  in  the  iron  circle  within  which  they  have 
confined  themselves,  and  remain  together  usque  ad 
vitam  ceternam" 

"Is  he  drunk?"  whispered  my  grandfather  to  his 
wife. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  she  answered. 

"Because  he  talks  sensibly." 

However,  they  made  my  uncle  listen  to  reason,  and 
it  was  agreed  that  on  the  next  day,  Sunday,  he  should 
go  to  see  Mademoiselle  Minxit. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW    MY    UNCLE    MEETS    AN    OLD    SERGEANT    AND 

A     POODLE    DOG,     WHICH     PREVENTS     HIM 

FROM     GOING     TO     M.     MINXIT'S 

AT  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning,  my  uncle  fresh- 
ened and  dressed,  was  all  ready  to  start,  except  that 
he  still  needed  a  pair  of  shoes  that  were  to  be  brought 
to  him  by  Cicero,  the  famous  town-crier  of  whom  we 
have  already  spoken,  who  combined  the  trade  of  a 
shoemaker  with  that  of  a  drummer. 

It  was  not  long  before  Cicero  arrived.  In  those 
free  and  easy  days,  when  a  workman  brought  work 
to  a  house,  it  was  the  custom  not  to  let  him  go  away 
without  first  making  him  drink  several  glasses  of 
wine.  It  was  a  bad  habit,  I  admit,  but  those  kindly 
ways  softened  the  distinctions  of  rank.  The  poor 
man  was  grateful  to  the  rich  man  for  his  generosity, 
and  was  not  envious  of  him.  That  is  why  during  the 
Revolution  there  were  instances  of  admirable  de- 
votion shown  by  servants  to  their  masters,  by  farm- 
ers to  their  landlords,  by  labourers  to  their  employ- 
ers, certainly  not  to  be  found  in  our  day  of  insolence, 
arrogance,  and  ridiculous  pride. 

Benjamin  asked  his  sister  to  draw  a  bottle  of  white 

25 


26  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

wine  to  drink  with  Cicero.     His  sister  brought  one 
bottle,  then  two,  then  three,  up  to  seven  bottles. 
"My  dear  sister,  I  beg  of  you,  one  more  bottle." 
"You  wretch,  don't  you  know  this  is  the  eighth 
bottle  already?" 

"But  my  dear  sister,  we  keep  our  accounts  sepa- 
rate." 

"Remember,  you  are  going  on  a  journey." 
"Just  this  last  bottle,  and  I  will  start." 
"A  fine  condition  to  start  in!     Suppose  any  one 
should  send  for  you  now  to  visit  a  patient?" 

"My  dear  sister,  how  little  you  appreciate  the 
good  effects  of  wine !  It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  never 
drink  anything  but  the  limpid  waters  of  Beuvron. 
What  if  I  do  have  to  travel,  my  center  of  gravity 
is  always  in  the  same  place.  If  I  have  to  bleed 

some  one By  the  way,  sister,  I  ought  to  bleed 

you.  Machecourt  advised  it  when  he  left.  You 
complained  this  morning  of  a  severe  headache.  A 
bleeding  will  do  you  good." 

So  saying,  Benjamin  took  out  his  case  of  instru- 
ments, and  my  grandmother  armed  herself  with  a 
pair  of  tongs. 

"The  devil!     You  are  a  very  rebellious  patient. 
Very  well,  let  us  compromise.     I  will  not  bleed  you, 
and  you  will  go  get  us  the  eighth  bottle  of  wine." 
"I  will  not  bring  you  a  single  glass." 
"Then  I  will  draw  it  myself,"  said  Benjamin;  and, 
taking  the  bottle,  he  started  for  the  cellar. 

Seeing  no  better  way  of  stopping  him,  my  grand- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  27 

mother  seized  his  queue,  but  Benjamin  paid  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  this,  and  walked  to  the  cellar 
as  steadily  as  if  there  had  been  nothing  more  than 
a  bunch  of  onions  hanging  to  his  queue.  He  came 
back  with  his  bottle  filled. 

"My  dear  sister,  it  was  well  worth  while  for  the 
two  of  us  to  go  to  the  cellar  for  a  paltry  bottle  of 
white  wine;  but  I  warn  you,  if  you  persist  in  these 
bad  habits,  you  will  force  me  to  cut  off  my  queue." 

A  moment  ago  Benjamin  had  looked  upon  the 
journey  to  Corvol  as  a  disagreeable  duty.  Now  he 
insisted  upon  starting,  and  my  grandmother,  to  pre- 
vent him,  locked  his  shoes  up  in  a  closet. 

"I  tell  you,  I  am  going." 

"And  I  tell  you,  you  are  not  going." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  drag  you  all  the  way  to 
M.  Minxit's  at  the  end  of  my  queue?" 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  discussion  that  my 
grandfather  found  the  brother  and  sister  when  he 
arrived.  He  put  an  end  to  it  by  announcing  that  he 
had  to  go  to  La  Chapelle  the  next  day  and  would 
take  Benjamin,  with  him. 

Grandfather  was  up  before  daylight.  When  he 
had  scribbled  off  his  writ  and  noted  at  the  end,  "The 
cost,  six  francs,  four  sous  and  six  deniers,"-he  wiped 
his  pen  on  his  coat  sleeve,  carefully  laid  his  spectacles 
in  their  case,  and  went  to  wake  Benjamin  up.  Ben- 
jamin was  sleeping  like  the  Prince  de  Conde  (that  is, 
if  the  Prince  was  not  shamming  sleep)  on  the  eve  of 
a  battle. 


28  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Get  up,  get  up,  Benjamin.  It's  broad  day- 
light." 

"You're  wrong,"  answered  Benjamin,  turning  to- 
wards the  wall  with  a  grunt,  "it  is  pitch  dark." 

"Raise  your  head,  and  you  will  see  the  sunlight  on 
the  floor." 

"That's  the  light  from  the  street  lamp." 

"Oh,  then  you  don't  want  to  go?" 

"No,  I  dreamt  the  whole  night  through  of  hard 
bread  and  sour  wine,  and  if  we  go,  something  bad 
might  happen." 

"Very  well,  if  you  are  not  up  in  ten  minutes,  I 
will  send  your  dear  sister  to  you.  But,  if  you  get 
up,  I  will  open  that  quarter-cask  of  old  wine — you 
know  which." 

"You're  sure  it's  from  Pouilly,  aren't  you?"  said 
Benjamin,  sitting  up  in  bed.  "On  your  word  of 
honour?" 

"Yes,  on  my  word  of  honour  as  a  summons- 
server." 

"Then  go  open  your  quarter-cask.  But  I  warn 
you,  if  anything  happens  on  the  way,  it  is  you  who 
will  have  to  answer  for  it  to  my  dear  sister." 

An  hour  later  my  uncle  and  my  grandfather  were 
on  their  way  to  Moulot.  At  some  distance  from  the 
town  they  met  two  peasant  boys,  one  of  whom  was 
carrying  a  rabbit  under  his  arm  and  the  other  two 
hens  in  a  basket.  The  boy  with  the  rabbit  said  to 
the  other  one: 

"If  you  tell  M.  Cliquet  that  my  rabbit  is  a  war- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  29 

ren  rabbit  and  you  saw  me  get  it  from  a  trap,  I 
will  make  you  my  chum." 

"All  right,  if  you  tell  Madame  Deby  that  my  hens 
lay  twice  a  day  and  their  eggs  are  as  big  as  ducks' 
eggs." 

"You  are  two  little  thieves,"  said  my  grandfather. 
"One  of  these  days  I  will  have  your  ears  pulled  by 
the  police  officer." 

"And  I,  my  friends,"  said  Benjamin,  "beg  you  each 
to  accept  this  twelve-denier  piece." 

"Well,  that  is  generosity  well  placed,"  said  my 
grandfather,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "No  doubt 
you  will  bestow  the  flat  of  your  sword  on  the  first 
honest  poor  man  you  come  across  if  you  throw  your 
money  away  on  these  two  scamps." 

"Scamps  to  you,  Machecourt,  who  see  nothing  but 
the  outside  of  things.  To  me  those  boys  are  two 
philosophers.  They  have  just  invented  a  machine, 
which,  if  well  organized,  would  make  the  fortune  of 
ten  honest  people." 

"And  what  machine  may  that  be,"  said  my  grand- 
father with  an  air  of  incredulity,  "which  your  two 
philosophers  have  invented?  I'd  thrash  the  philoso- 
phers soundly  if  we  had  time  to  stop." 

"A  simple  machine,"  my  uncle  replied.  "This  is 
how  it  works.  There  are  ten  of  us.  ten  friends,  who, 
instead  of  meeting  for  breakfast,  meet  to  make  our 
fortunes." 

"At  least  something  worth  meeting  for,"  inter- 
rupted my  grandfather. 


30  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"All  ten  of  us  are  intelligent,  skilful,  even  tricky, 
if  need  be.  We  can  assume  a  lofty  tone  and  are  fas- 
cinating talkers.  We  play  with  words  as  cleverly  as 
a  juggler  plays  with  his  balls.  As  for  morality,  we 
are  all  capable  in  our  professions;  and  well-meaning 
persons  may  say,  without  seriously  compromising 
themselves,  that  we  are  the  superiors  of  our  col- 
leagues. In  a  perfectly  honourable  spirit  we  form  a 
society  for  throwing  each  other  bouquets,  puffing 
each  other,  and  boosting  our  small  deserts." 

"I  understand,"  said  my  grandfather.  "One  of 
you  sells  rat  poison  and  has  nothing  but  a  big  drum, 
the  other,  Swiss  tea  and  has  nothing  but  a  pair  of 
cymbals.  You  pool  your  means  of  making  a  noise, 
and " 

"Exactly,"  interrupted  Benjamin.  "You  see,  if 
the  machine  works  properly,  each  of  the  members 
has  nine  instruments  around  him  that  make  a  tre- 
mendous noise. 

"There  are  nine  of  us  who  say,  'Page  the  lawyer 
drinks  too  much.  But  I  believe  the  devil  of  a  fellow 
steeps  the  Nivernais  code  of  laws  in  his  wine  and 
then  corks  up  his  logic  in  bottles.  He  wins  every  case 
he  wants  to.  The  other  day  he  won  large  damages 
for  a  nobleman  because  the  nobleman  had  beaten  a 
peasant.  The  process-server,  Parlanta,  is  a  little 
too  cunning.  But  he  is  the  Hannibal  of  process-serv- 
ers. You  can't  escape  his  arrests  for  debt.  A  debtor 
would  have  to  be  without  a  body  to  evade  him.  He 
would  not  hesitate  to  lay  his  hands  on  a  duke  or  a 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  31 

peer.  As  for  Benjamin  Rathery,  he  is  an  easy-going 
fellow  who  makes  fun  of  everything  and  laughs  a 
fever  in  the  face.  A  man,  if  you  will,  of  the  dish  and 
the  bottle.  But  it  is  for  that  very  reason  that  I'd 
rather  call  him  in  when  I'm  ill  than  anyone  else.  He 
hasn't  got  the  manner  of  those  gloomy  doctors  whose 
record  is  a  cemetery.  He  is  too  gay  and  his  di- 
gestion is  too  good  for  a  man  who  has  many  deaths 
on  his  conscience.  In  this  way  each  of  the  members 
is  multiplied  by  nine." 

"Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "but  will  that  give 
you  nine  red  coats?  Nine  times  Benjamin  Rathery, 
what  does  that  make?" 

"That  makes  nine  hundred  times  Machecourt," 
Benjamin  retorted  like  a  flash.  "But  let  me  finish 
my  explanation.  You  can  make  your  jokes  after- 
ward. Here  are  nine  advertisements  that  insinuate 
themselves  everywhere,  that  to-morrow  repeat  under 
another  form  what  they  have  told  you  to-day;  nine 
placards  that  talk  and  catch  passers-by  by  the  arm; 
nine  signs  that  promenade  through  the  town  and  dis- 
cuss, and  propound  dilemmas  and  set  up  syllogisms 
and  make  sport  of  you  if  you  are  not  of  their  opinion. 

"As  a  result,  the  reputations  of  Page  and  Rapin 
and  Rathery,  till  then  dragging  themselves  along 
painfully  within  the  limits  of  the  small  town,  like  a 
lawyer  moving  in  a  vicious  circle,  suddenly  soar  up- 
ward. Yesterday  they  had  no  feet.  To-day  they 
have  wings.  They  expand  like  gas  let  out  of  a  sealed 
bottle.  They  spread  throughout  the  province. 


32  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Clients  stream  to  these  people  from  all  parts  of  the 
bailiwick,  from  the  south  and  the  north  and  the 
east  and  the  west,  like  the  elect  in  the  Apocalypse 
streaming  into  Jerusalem.  At  the  end  of  five  or  six 
years  Benjamin  Rathery  is  the  possessor  of  a  large 
fortune,  which  he  spends  in  luncheons  and  dinners 
to  the  loud  accompaniment  of  glasses  and  bottles. 
You,  Machecourt,  are  no  longer  a  server  of  writs. 
I  buy  you  the  office  of  bailiff.  Your  wife  is  covered 
with  silk  and  lace  like  an  image  of  Our  Lady.  Your 
oldest  son,  who  is  already  a  choir-boy,  enters  the 
seminary.  Your  second  son  who  is  sickly  and  as  yel- 
low as  a  Canary  bird,  studies  medicine.  I  make  over 
to  him  my  good-will  and  my  practise  and  keep  him 
in  red  coats.  Of  your  younger  son  I  make  a  lawyer. 
Your  older  daughter  marries  a  literary  man  and  we 
marry  the  younger  one  to  a  fat  bourgeois,  and  the 
day  after  the  wedding  we  put  the  machine  away  in 
the  attic." 

"Yes,  but  there  is  just  one  little  flaw  in  your  ma- 
chine. Honest  people  can't  use  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because." 

"Because  what?" 

"Because  the  effect  is  immoral." 

"Can  you  prove  your  immoral  effect  by  premises 
and  conclusions?" 

"Go  away  with  your  premises  and  conclusions. 
You  who  are  a  scholar  reason  with  your  intellect. 
I  who  am  a  poor  process-server  feel  with  my  con- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  33 

science.  I  maintain  that  any  man  who  acquires  a 
fortune  in  any  other  way  than  by  his  own  work  and 
his  own  talents  does  not  come  by  it  rightly." 

"Excellent,  Machecourt,"  cried  my  uncle,  "you  are 
perfectly  right.  Conscience  is  the  best  logician,  and 
charlatanism,  in  whatever  disguise,  is  a  fraud  always. 
So  we  will  break  our  machine  and  say  no  more  about 
it." 

Chatting  on  in  this  way,  they  approached  the  vil- 
lage of  Moulot.  A  man  looking  something  like  a 
soldier  was  sitting  at  the  gate  of  a  vineyard.  He 
was  all  framed  in  by  blackberry  bushes,  which  had 
been  browned  and  reddened  by  the  frost  and  hung 
about  him  like  tousled  hair.  On  his  head  was  a  piece 
of  a  cocked  hat  without  a  cockade.  His  emaciated 
face  had  a  stony  colour  like  the  deep  ivory  of  old 
monuments  long  exposed  to  the  sunlight.  The  two 
halves  of  a  huge  white  mustache  encircled  his  mouth 
like  a  parenthesis.  He  was  dressed  in  an  old  uni- 
form, and  across  one  sleeve  was  an  old,  worn-out 
strip  of  galloon. 

The  other  sleeve,  with  the  insignia  gone,  was  noth- 
ing but  a  rectangle  showing  a  newer  material  and  a 
deeper  shade  than  the  rest  of  the  garment.  His  bare 
legs,  swollen  by  the  cold,  were  as  red  as  beets.  He 
was  moistening  a  piece  of  black  bread  with  a  few 
drops  of  brandy  from  a  gourd.  A  large  poodle  dog 
was  sitting  in  front  of  him,  following  all  his  move- 
ments with  the  attentiveness  of  a  deaf  mute  who  lis- 
tens to  his  master's  orders  with  his  eyes. 


34  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

My  uncle  would  rather  have  passed  a  tavern  with- 
out going  in  than  have  passed  this  man  without  stop- 
ping to  speak  to  him. 

"My  good  man,  that  is  a  bad  lunch  you  have 
there,"  he  said  from  the  roadside. 

UI  have  eaten  many  a  worse  one.  But  Fontenoy 
and  I  have  good  appetites." 

"Who  is  Fontenoy?" 

"My  dog.     This  one  here." 

"The  devil !  A  fine  name  for  a  dog.  In  fact,  if 
glory  is  good  for  kings,  why  should  it  not  be  good  for 
poodles?" 

"That  is  his  nom  de  guerre,"  continued  the  ser- 
geant. "His  real  name  is  Azor." 

"Why  do  you  call  him  Fontenoy?" 

"Because  he  took  an  English  captain  prisoner  at 
the  battle  of  Fontenoy." 

"Indeed?  How  did  he  do  that?"  exclaimed  my 
uncle,  greatly  amazed. 

"Very  simply — by  hanging  to  one  of  his  coat-tails, 
until  I  could  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Just  as  he 
is,  Fontenoy  was  given  an  army  order,  and  had  the 
honour  to  be  presented  to  Louis  XV.,  who  conde- 
scended to  say  to  me:  'Sergeant  Duranton,  that's  a 
fine  dog  of  yours.'  ' 

"A  king  courteous  to  animals.  I  am  surprised 
he  did  not  bestow  a  title  of  nobility  upon  your 
poodle.  How  is  it  you  left  the  service  of  so  good  a 
king?" 

"Because  they  committed  an  injustice  against  me," 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  35 

said  the  sergeant,  his  eyes  lighting  up  and  his  nostrils 
dilating  with  anger.  "It's  ten  years  since  I've  been 
wearing  these  gold  rags  on  my  arms,  and  I  have  been 
through  all  the  campaigns  of  Morris  of  Saxony,  and 
I  have  more  scars  on  my  body  than  would  be  re- 
quired for  two  periods  of  service.  They  promised 
me  the  epaulets,  but  to  make  a  weaver's  son  an  of- 
ficer would  have  been  a  scandal  to  make  every  hair 
of  every  animal  in  the  kingdom  of  France  and  Na- 
varre stand  on  end  in  horror.  So,  over  my  head, 
they  promoted  a  chick  of  a  knight  just  hatched  from 
the  page's  shell.  He  will  find  a  way  of  getting  killed. 
They  are  brave,  there  is  no  denying  that;  but  the  man 
doesn't  know  how  to  say  Right-dress !" 

At  this  word,  uttered  very  emphatically,  the  poodle 
turned  his  head  to  the  right,  military  fashion. 

"Fine,  Fontenoy,"  said  his  master,  "you  forget 
we  have  retired  from  the  service."  Then  he  went 
on:  "I  could  not  forgive  the  very  Christian  king. 
I  have  been  on  bad  terms  with  him  ever  since;  and 
I  asked  him  for  my  dismissal,  which  he  graciously 
granted." 

"You  did  well,  my  brave  fellow,"  cried  Benjamin, 
slapping  the  old  soldier  on  the  shoulder,  an  im- 
prudent demonstration,  for  the  poodle  nearly  ate 
him  up.  "If  my  approval  is  of  any  value  to  you,  I 
give  it  to  you  without  reserve.  The  nobles  have 
never  stood  in  the  way  of  my  advancement,  but  that 
does  not  keep  me  from  hating  them  with  my  whole 
heart  and  soul." 


36  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"In  that  case  a  purely  Platonic  hatred,"  inter- 
rupted my  grandfather. 

"Say  rather  a  purely  philosophical  hatred,  Mache- 
court.  Of  all  absurd  things,  nobility  is  the  most  ab- 
surd. It  is  a  flagrant  revolt  of  despotism  against 
the  Creator.  Did  God  make  the  grasses  of  the  field 
one  higher  than  the  other?  Did  he  engrave  escutch- 
eons upon  the  wings  of  birds  and  the  hides  of  beasts? 
What  do  these  superior  men  signify  whom  a  king 
makes  by  letters-patent  as  he  licenses  an  exciseman 
or  a  huckster?  Dating  from  to-day,  you  will  ac- 
knowledge Mr.  So-and-so  as  a  superior  man.  Signed 
'Louis  XV.,'  and  lower  down,  'Choiseul.'  A  fine 
way  of  establishing  superiority.  A  serf  Is  made- a 
count  by  Henri  IV.  because  he  served  his  majesty 
with  a  nice  goose.  Had  he  served  a  capon  along 
with  the  goose,  he  would  have  been  made  a  mar- 
quis, and  not  a  bit  more  ink  or  parchment  would 
have  been  needed.  Now  the  descendants  of  these 
men  have  the  privilege  of  beating  us  because  our 
ancestors  never  had  the  opportunity  of  offering  a 
fowl's  wing  to  a  king.  Just  see  on  what  a  little  thing 
greatness  depends  in  this  world!  Had  the  goose 
been  cooked  a  bit  too  much  or  a  bit  too  little,  had  it 
been  seasoned  with  one  pinch  of  salt  too  much  or  too 
little,  had  a  speck  of  soot  fallen  into  the  dripping 
pan  or  a  tiny  cinder  on  the  slices  of  bread,  had  the 
bird  been  served  a  moment  too  soon  or  too  late, 
there  would  have  been  one  noble  family  the  less  in 
France.  And  the  people  bow  low  to  these  great 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  37 

ones.  Oh,  I  should  like  the  same  that  Caligula 
wanted  of  the  Romans,  that  France  had  only  a  single 
pair  of  cheeks  to  slap." 

"But  tell  me,  imbecile  people,  what  value  do  you 
find  in  the  two  letters  that  the  nobles  place  in  front 
of  their  names  ?  Do  they  add  an  inch  to  their  height  ? 
Have  they  more  iron  than  you  in  their  blood,  more 
brain  matter  inside  their  skulls?  Can  they  handle  a 
heavier  sword  than  yours?  Does  this  marvellous  de 
cure  scrofula?  Does  it  safeguard  its  possessor 
against  the  colic  when  he  has  dined  too  heavily,  or 
from  intoxication  when  he  has  drunk  too  much? 
Don't  you  see  that  all  these  counts,  these  barons, 
these  marquises  are  capital  letters  which,  in  spite  of 
the  place  they  occupy  in  the  line,  don't  help  with 
the  spelling  any  more  than  the  small  letters?  If  a 
duke  and  a  peer  and  a  woodcutter  were  alone  to- 
gether on  an  American  prairie  or  in  the  middle  of 
Sahara,  I  should  like  to  know  which  of  them  would 
be  the  nobler. 

"Their  great-great-grandfather  wielded  the  shield, 
and  your  father  made  cotton  caps.  What  does  that 
prove  for  them  or  against  you?  Do  they  come  into 
the  world  with  their  ancestor's  shield  at  their  side? 
Have  they  his  scars  marked  on  their  skin?  What  is 
this  greatness  that  is  transmitted  from  father  to  son, 
like  a  fresh  candle  lighted  at  a  dying  candle?  Are 
the  mushrooms  that  spring  up  on  the  decayed  wood 
of  a  dead  oak,  oaks?  When  I  hear  that  the  king 
has  created  a  noble  family,  it  is  as  though  I  were  to 


3  8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

see  a  farmer  planting  in  his  field  a  great  fool  of  a 
poppy  that  will  choke  up  twenty  furrows  with  its 
seed  and  yield  nothing  but  four  big  red  leaves  a  year. 
Nevertheless,  as  long  as  there  are  kings,  there  will 
be  nobles.  The  kings  make  counts,  marquises,  dukes, 
so  that  admiration  should  rise  up  to  them  by  degrees. 
Relatively  to  the  kings  the  nobles  are  the  small  show 
at  the  entrance  which  gives  the  idlers  on  the  street  a 
foretaste  of  the  magnificent  spectacle  inside.  A  king 
without  nobility  would  be  a  salon  without  an  ante- 
chamber. But  this  dainty  ministering  to  their  van- 
ity will  cost  them  dear.  It  is  impossible  that  twenty 
millions  of  men  should  forever  consent  to  be  noth- 
ing in  the  state  so  that  a  few  thousand  courtiers  may 
be  something.  He  who  sows  privileges  will  reap 
revolutions. 

"The  time  is  not  far  off  perhaps  when  all  those 
brilliant  escutcheons  will  be  dragged  in  the  gutter, 
and  those  who  now  adorn  themselves  with  them  will 
need  the  protection  of  their  valets." 

"What,"  you  say  to  me,  "your  uncle  Benjamin 
said  all  that?" 

"Why  not?" 

"All  in  one  breath?" 

"To  be  sure.  What  is  so  surprising  about  it?  My 
grandfather  had  a  jug  that  held  a  pint  and  a  half, 
and  my  uncle  emptied  it  at  one  draught.  He  called  it 
making  tirades." 

"And  his  words?  How  were  they  pre- 
served?" 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  39 

"My  grandfather  wrote  them  down." 

"You  mean  to  say  he  had  writing  material  with 
him  there  in  the  open  country?" 

"How  stupid!    Wasn't  he  a  process-server?" 

"And  the  sergeant?  Did  he  have  anything  more 
to  say?" 

"Certainly.  He  had  to  say  something  for  my 
uncle  to  reply  to." 

So  then,  the  sergeant  said: 

"I  have  been  tramping  now  for  three  months.  I 
go  from  farm  to  farm,  and  I  stay  as  long  as  they 
are  willing  to  keep  me.  I  drill  with  the  children,  I 
tell  the  men  the  story  of  our  campaigns,  and  Fonte- 
noy  amuses  the  women  with  his  tricks.  I  never  am  in 
a  hurry  because  I  never  exactly  know  where  I  am 
going.  They  send  me  back  to  my  fireside,  and  I  have 
no  fireside.  My  father's  hearth  was  destroyed  long 
ago,  and  my  arms  are  hollower  and  rustier  than  two 
old  gun-barrels.  However,  I  think  I  shall  go  back 
to  my  village.  Not  that  I  expect  to  be  better  off 
there  than  anywhere  else.  The  ground  is  as  hard 
there  as  elsewhere,  and  the  roads  there  don't  flow 
with  brandy.  But  what  is  the  difference?  I'll  go 
there  anyway.  It  is  a  sort  of  sick  man's  whim.  I 
shall  be  the  garrison  of  the  neighbourhood.  If  they 
won't  support  the  old  soldier,  they  will  at  least  have 
to  bury  him,  and,"  he  added,  "they  will  certainly  be 
kind  enough  to  place  a  little  soup  for  Fontenoy  on 
my  grave,  until  he  dies  of  grief.  For  Fontenoy  will 
not  let  me  go  away  alone.  That's  the  promise  he 


40  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

makes  me  when  we  are  alone  and  he  looks  at  me. 
My  good  Fontenoy." 

"So  that  is  the  fate  they  have  prepared  for  you?" 
answered  Benjamin.  "Truly,  kings  are  the  most  self- 
ish of  beings.  If  the  serpents  that  our  poets  speak 
so  ill  of  had  a  literature,  they  would  make  kings  the 
symbol  of  ingratitude.  I  somewhere  read  that  after 
God  made  the  heart  of  kings  a  dog  ran  off  with  it, 
and  not  wishing  to  do  his  work  over  again,  he  put 
a  stone  in  its  place.  That  seems  to  me  very  likely. 
As  for  the  Capets,  perhaps  they  have  an  onion  in 
place  of  a  heart.  I  defy  anyone  to  prove  the  con- 
trary. 

"Because  these  people  had  a  cross  made  on  their 
foreheads  with  oil,  their  persons  are  august,  they  are 
majesties,  they  are  we  instead  of  I.  They  can  do 
no  wrong.  Should  their  valets  de  chambre  happen 
to  scratch  them  putting  on  their  shirts,  it  would  be  a 
sacrilege.  Their  little  ones  are  highnesses,  these 
tots,  which  a  woman  carries  in  her  hand,  and  whose 
cradle  could  be  put  in  a  hen-coop.  They  are  very 
high  heights,  most  serene  mountains.  We  would 
gladly  gild  their  nurses'  nipples.  If  such  is  the  effect 
of  a  little  oil,  how  much  we  ought  to  respect  the 
anchovies  that  are  pickled  in  oil  till  we  eat 
them! 

"In  the  cast  of  kings  and  emperors,  pride  goes  to 
the  point  of  madness.  They  are  compared  to  Jupi- 
ter holding  a  thunder-bolt,  and  they  do  not  consider 
themselves  too  highly  honoured  by  the  comparison. 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  41 

Leave  out  the  thunder-bolt,  and  they  would  be  of- 
fended. Nevertheless,  Jupiter  has  the  gout,  and  it 
takes  two  lackeys  to  lead  him  to  table  or  to  bed. 
The  rhymester  Boileau  on  his  own  authority  ordered 
the  winds  to  keep  quiet  because  he  was  going  to  speak 
of  Louis  XIV. : 

'Be  silent,  O  ye  winds, 
Of  Louis  I  shall  speak.' 

"And  Louis  XIV.  saw  nothing  except  what  was 
quite  natural  in  this.  Only  it  never  occurred  to  him 
to  bid  the  commanders  of  his  vessels  speak  of  Louis 
in  order  to  still  the  tempests. 

"All  these  poor  madmen  believe  that  the  extent  of 
earth  over  which  they  reign  is  theirs,  and  God  gave 
it  to  Count  Odo  of  Paris,  soil  and  sub-soil,  to  be  en- 
joyed, without  disturbance  or  hindrance,  by  him  and 
his  descendants.  If  a  courier  tells  them  that  God 
made  the  Seine  for  the  express  purpose  of  feeding 
the  great  fountain  of  the  Tuileries,  they  will  con- 
sider him  a  man  of  intelligence.  They  look  upon  the 
millions  of  men  around  them  as  their  property,  the 
title  to  which  cannot  be  disputed  on  the  penalty  of 
hanging.  Some  come  into  the  world  to  furnish 
them  with  money,  some  to  die  in  their  quarrels,  and 
some  with  the  clearest  and  reddest  blood,  to  beget 
mistresses  for  them.  All  this  evidently  because  an 
old  archbishop,  with  his  trembling  hand,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  on  their  brows. 

"They  take  a  man  in  the  heydey  of  youth,  put 


42  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

a  gun  in  his  hands  and  a  knapsack  on  his  back,  stick 
a  cockade  on  his  cap  and  say  to  him:  'My  brother 
of  Prussia  has  wronged  me.  You  are  to  attack  all 
his  subjects.  I  have  warned  them  by  my  process- 
server,  whom  I  call  a  herald,  that  on  the  first  of 
April  next  you  will  have  the  honour  to  present  your- 
self at  the  frontier  to  cut  their  throats  and  they 
should  be  ready  to  welcome  you  properly.  Between 
monarchs  these  are  considerations  that  one  owes  the 
other.  At  first  sight  you  may  think  our  enemies  are 
men.  I  warn  you,  they  are  Prussians.  You  can  tell 
them  from  human  beings  by  the  colour  of  their  uni- 
forms. Try  to  do  your  duty  well,  for  I  shall  be 
there  sitting  on  my  throne  watching  you.  If  you 
bring  back  victory  when  you  return  to  France,  you 
will  be  led  beneath  the  windows  of  my  palace.  I 
will  appear  in  full  uniform  and  say:  'Soldiers,  I  am 
satisfied  with  you.'  If  you  are  one  hundred  thousand 
men,  you  will  have  a  hundred-thousandth  of  these 
six  words  for  your  share.  In  case  you  should  remain 
on  the  battlefield,  which  may  very  well  happen,  I 
will  send  your  family  the  death  certificate,  so  that 
they  may  mourn  you,  and  that  brothers  may  inherit 
your  property.  If  you  lose  an  arm  or  a  leg,  I  will 
pay  you  what  they  are  worth,  but  if  you  have  the 
good  or  the  ill  fortune,  whichever  you  may  think  it, 
to  escape  the  bullet,  and  you  no  longer  have  the 
strength  to  carry  your  knapsack,  I  will  dismiss  you, 
and  you  can  go  die  where  you  like.  I  have  no  fur- 
ther interest  in  the  matter." 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  43 

"Exactly,"  said  the  sergeant,  "When  they  have 
extracted  the  phosphorus  of  which  they  make  their 
glory  from  our  blood  they  throw  us  aside  the  way  the 
wine-grower  throws  the  grape  skin  on  the  muck- 
heap,  after  he  has  pressed  out  the  juice,  or  the  way 
a  child  throws  the  pit  of  the  fruit  he  has  just  eaten 
into  the  gutter." 

"That  is  very  wrong  of  them,"  said  Machecourt 
whose  mind  was  at  Corvol,  and  who  was  eager  to 
see  his  brother-in-law. 

"Machecourt,"  said  Benjamin,  looking  at  him  as- 
kance, "choose  your  expressions  better.  This  is  no 
laughing  matter.  Really,  when  I  see  these  valiant 
soldiers,  whose  blood  has  made  the  glory  of  their 
country,  obliged  to  spend  the  rest  of  their  life  in  a 
cobbler's  hole  of  a  workshop,  like  poor  old  Cicero: 
while  a  multitude  of  gilded  puppets  snatch  up  all  the 
taxes,  and  prostitutes  have  cashmere  for  their  morn- 
ing wrappers,  a  single  one  of  which  is  worth  the  en- 
tire wardrobe  of  a  poor  housewife,  I  am  furious  at 
kings.  If  I  were  God,  I  would  make  them  wear  a 
uniform  of  lead,  and  condemn  them  to  a  thousand 
years  of  military  service  in  the  moon,  with  all  their 
iniquities  in  their  knapsacks.  I'd  make  the  emperors 
be  corporals." 

On  recovering  his  breath  and  wiping  his  brow — 
for  his  feelings  and  his  indignation  had  put  my 
worthy  great-uncle  into  a  sweat — he  took  my  grand- 
father aside  and  said: 

"What  do  you  say  to  our  having  this  brave  man 


44  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

and  his  glorious  poodle  breakfast  with  us  at  Ma* 
nette's?" 

"Hem!    Ahem!"  objected  my  grandfather. 

"The  devil!"  replied  Benjamin.  "It  isn't  every 
day  you  meet  a  poodle  who  has  taken  an  English  cap* 
tain  prisoner;  and  every  day  political  banquets  are 
given  to  persons  worth  less  than  this  honourable 
beast." 

"But  have  you  any  money?"  said  my  grandfather. 
"I  have  only  a  thirty-sou  piece  that  your  sister  gave 
me  this  morning  because,  I  believe,  it  isn't  stamped 
right,  and  she  impressed  upon  me  to  bring  her  back 
at  least  half  of  it." 

"I  haven't  a  single  sou,  but  I  am  Manette's  physi- 
cian, and  she  from  time  to  time  is  my  landlady,  and 
we  give  each  other  credit." 

"Nothing  more  than  Manette's  physician?" 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

"Nothing.  But  I  warn  you  I  shan't  stay  at  Ma- 
nette's more  than  an  hour." 

So  my  uncle  extended  his  invitation  to  the  ser- 
geant. He  accepted  without  ceremony,  and  joyfully 
placed  himself  between  my  uncle  and  my  grand- 
father, walking  in  what  soldiers  call  lock-step. 

They  met  a  bull  being  driven  to  pasture  by  a  peas- 
ant.  Irritated,  no  doubt,  by  Benjamin's  coat,  he 
made  a  lunge  at  him.  My  uncle  dodged  his  horns, 
and,  having  joints  like  springs  of  steel,  he  bounded 
across  a  broad  ditch  separating  the  road  from  the 
field  with  as  little  effort  as  if  he  had  been  taking  a 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  45 

dance  step.  The  bull,  evidently  eager  to  rip  up  the 
red  coat,  tried  to  imitate  my  uncle,  but  landed  in 
the  middle  of  the  ditch.  "Good  enough  for  you !" 
said  Benjamin.  "That's  what  you  get  by  seeking  a 
quarrel  with  people  who  are  not  thinking  of  you." 
But  the  beast,  as  obstinate  as  a  Russian  mounting  to 
an  assault,  was  not  discouraged.  Planting  his  hoofs 
in  the  half-thawed  ground,  he  tried  to  climb  the  slope. 
Thereupon,  my  uncle  drew  his  sword,  and  did  his 
best  to  prick  the  enemy's  snout.  He  called  to  the 
peasant:  "My  good  man,  stop  your  beast;  else  I 
shall  have  to  put  my  sword  through  his  body."  But, 
so  saying,  he  let  his  sword  fall  into  the  ditch.  "Take 
off  your  coat,  and  throw  it  to  him  as  quickly  as  you 
can,"  cried  Machecourt.  "Hide  among  the  vines," 
said  the  peasant.  "Sic  him!  Sic  him,  Fontenoy!" 
said  the  sergeant.  The  poodle  leaped  at  the  bull, 
and,  as  if  knowing  whom  he  had  to  deal  with,  bit 
him  on  the  ham-string.  The  bull  then  turned  his 
wrath  against  the  dog;  and,  while  he  was  thrusting 
his  horns  furiously  this  way  and  that,  the  peasant 
came  up  and  succeeded  in  passing  a  noose  around  his 
hind  legs.  This  skilful  manoeuver  met  with  complete 
success  and  put  an  end  to  the  hostilities. 

Benjamin  returned  to  the  road.  He  thought 
Machecourt  was  going  to  laugh  at  him,  but  Mache- 
couFt  was  as  pale  as  a  sheet  and  his  legs  were  tremb- 
ling. 

"Come,  Machecourt,  brace  up,"  said  my  uncle, 
"else  I  shall  have  to  bleed  you.  As  for  you,  my 


46  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

brave  Fontenoy,  you  made  a  prettier  fable  to-day 
than  the  one  by  La  Fontaine  entitled  'The  Dove  and 
the  Ant.'  You  see,  gentlemen,  a  good  deed  is  never 
lost.  Generally  the  giver  is  obliged  to  allow  long 
credit  to  the  debtor.  But  Fontenoy  has  paid  me  in 
advance.  Who  the  devil  would  have  thought  I 
should  ever  be  under  obligations  to  a  poodle?" 

Moulot  is  hidden  among  a  clump  of  willows  and 
poplars  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Beuvron  stream,  at 
the  foot  of  a  big  hill,  into  which  the  road  to  La 
Chapelle  cuts.  A  few  houses  of  the  village  had  al- 
ready gone  up  by  the  side  of  the  road,  as  white  and 
as  spick  and  span  as  peasant  women  dressed  for  the 
fairs.  Among  them  was  Manette's  wine-shop.  At 
sight  of  the  frost-covered  sign  hanging  from  ths 
attic-window,  Benjamin  began  to  sing  in  his  sten- 
torian voice: 

"Friends,  here  we  must  come  to  a  halt, 
I  see  the  shadow  of  a  dram-shop." 

On  hearing  this  familiar  voice,  Manette  ran  to  the 
doorway,  blushing. 

Manette  was  really  a  very  pretty  person,  plump, 
chubby-cheeked  and  fair,  but  perhaps  a  little  too 
pink.  Her  cheeks  were  like  a  pool  of  milk  with  a 
few  drops  of  wine  floating  on  the  surface. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Benjamin,  "permit  me  first  of 
all  to  kiss  our  pretty  hostess  as  part  payment  in  ad- 
vance for  the  good  lunch  she  is  going  to  give  us 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  47 

"Oh,  come,  Monsieur  Rathery!"  exclaimed  Ma- 
nette,  retreating.  "You  are  not  made  for  peasant 
women.  Go  and  kiss  Mademoiselle  Minxit." 

"It  seems  rumours  of  my  marriage  have  already 
spread  through  the  country,"  my  uncle  thought.  "No 
one  but  M.  Minxit  can  have  spoken  of  it.  Hence  he 
must  be  anxious  to  have  me  for  a  son-in-law.  So,  if 
he  should  not  receive  my  visit  to-day,  that  would  not 
be  a  reason  for  breaking  off  the  negotiations." 

"Manette,"  he  said,  "Mademoiselle  Minxit  is  not 
in  question  here.  Have  you  any  fish?" 

"Fish?"  said  Manette.  "There  are  plenty  in  M. 
Minxit's  pond." 

"Manette,  I  ask  you  again,"  said  Benjamin,  "have 
you  any  fish?  Be  careful  what  answer  you  give  me." 

"Well,"  said  Manette,  "my  husband  has  gone  fish- 
ing, and  he  will  soon  return." 

"Soon  does  not  interest  us.  Put  as  many  slices 
of  ham  on  the  gridiron  as  it  will  hold,  and  make  us 
an  omelette  of  all  the  eggs  in  your  hen-house." 

The  lunch  was  soon  ready.  While  the  ome- 
lette was  leaping  in  the  frying-pan,  the  ham  was 
broiling  on  the  iron.  Scarcely  was  the  omelette 
served  than  it  was  already  consumed.  It  takes  a 
hen  six  months  to  lay  twelve  eggs,  a  woman  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  to  convert  the  twelve  eggs  into  an  ome- 
lette, and  three  men  five  minutes  to  devour  the  ome- 
lette. "See,"  said  Benjamin,  "how  much  faster  tear- 
ing down  goes  on  than  building  up.  Land  where 
there  is  a  large  population  grows  poorer  every  day. 


48  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Man  is  a  greedy  child  who  wears  his  nurse  away. 
The  ox  does  not  restore  to  the  fields  all  the  grass  he 
takes  from  it.  The  ashes  of  the  oak  that  we  burn 
do  not  return  to  the  forest  as  an  oak.  The  breezes 
do  not  carry  back  to  the  rose-bush  the  leaves  of  the 
bouquet  that  the  maiden  scatters  around  her.  The 
candle  burning  in  front  of  us  does  not  fall  back  on 
the  ground  in  waxen  dew.  Rivers  continually  rob 
the  continents  of  soil  and  deposit  it  in  the  bosom  of 
the  sea.  Most  of  the  mountains  have  no  verdure 
left  on  their  big  bald  skulls.  The  Alps  expose  their 
bare,  jagged  bones.  The  interior  of  Africa  is  noth- 
ing but  a  sea  of  sand.  Spain  is  a  vast  steppe,  and 
Italy  a  great  charnel-house  with  only  a  bed  of  ashes 
remaining.  Wherever  great  peoples  have  passed, 
they  have  left  sterility  in  their  tracks.  This  earth, 
adorned  with  leaves  and  flowers,  is  a  consumptive 
with  red  cheeks  whose  days  are  numbered.  A  time 
will  come  when  it  will  be  nothing  but  an  inert,  dead, 
icy  mass,  a  great  tombstone  on  which  God  will  write  : 
'Here  lies  the  human  race.'  Meanwhile,  gentlemen, 
let  us  enjoy  the  blessings  the  earth  gives  us,  and,  as 
she  is  a  tolerably  good  mother,  let  us  drink  to  her 
long  life." 

Next  came  the  ham.  My  grandfather  ate  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  because  a  man  must  eat  to  be  strong, 
and  must  have  blood  to  be  able  to  serve  writs.  Ben- 
jamin ate  for  amusement.  But  the  sergeant  ate  like 
a  man  who  sits  down  to  table  for  no  other  purpose, 
and  he  did  not  utter  a  word, 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  49 

At  table  Benjamin  was  a  great  man;  but  his  noble 
stomach  was  not  free  from  jealousy,  that 
base  passion  which  dims  the  most  brilliant 
qualities. 

He  watched  the  sergeant  with  the  thwarted  air  of 
a  man  who  has  been  excelled,  as  Cassar  might  have 
looked  on  from  the  Capitol  at  Bonaparte  winning 
the  battle  of  Marengo.  After  contemplating  his 
man  for  some  time  in  silence,  he  thought  fit  to  address 
these  words  to  him: 

"Drinking  and  eating  are  two  beings  that  resemble 
each  other.  At  first  sight  you  would  take  them  for 
first  cousins.  But  drinking  is  as  much  above  eating 
as  the  eagle  who  alights  upon  the  mountain  peak  is 
above  the  crow  who  perches  on  the  tree-top.  Eating 
is  a  necessity  of  the  stomach;  drinking  is  a  necessity 
of  the  soul.  Eating  is  only  a  common  workman; 
drinking  is  an  artist.  Drinking  inspires  poets  with 
jolly  ideas,  philosophers  with  noble  thoughts,  musi- 
cians with  melodious  airs.  Eating  gives  them  noth- 
ing but  cramps.  Now,  sergeant,  I  flatter  myself  I 
know  how  to  drink  as  well  as  you — even  better,  I  be- 
lieve. But,  when  it  comes  to  eating,  I  am  a  bungler 
next  to  you.  You  could  cope  with  Arthus  in  per- 
son. I  even  think  that  on  a  turkey  you  could  go 
him  a  wing  better." 

"That's  because  I  eat  for  yesterday,  to-day,  and  to- 
morrow." 

"Then  permit  me  to  serve  you  with  this  last  slice 
of  ham  for  day  after-to-morrow," 


50  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  sergeant,  "there 
is  an  end  to  everything." 

"Well,  the  Creator  who  has  caused  soldiers  to  pass 
suddenly  from  extreme  abundance  to  extreme  want 
has  given  to  them,  as  he  has  to  the  camel,  two 
stomachs.  Their  second  stomach  is  their  knapsack. 
Put  this  ham  in  your  knapsack.  Neither  Machecourt 
nor  I  want  it." 

"No,"  said  the  soldier,  "I  don't  have  to  lay  up 
provisions.  I  always  get  food  enough.  But  permit 
me  to  offer  this  ham  to  Fontenoy.  We  are  in  the 
habit  of  sharing  everything,  feast  days  as  well  as 
fast  days." 

"Your  dog  really  does  deserve  to  be  well  taken 
care  of,"  said  my  uncle.  "Will  you  sell  him  to  me?" 

"Monsieur!"  exclaimed  the  sergeant,  quickly  put- 
ting his  hand  on  his  poodle. 

"I  beg  pardon,  my  brave  man,  I  beg  pardon. 
Sorry  to  have  offended  you.  I  was  only  joking.  I 
know  asking  a  poor  man  to  sell  his  dog  is  like  pro- 
posing to  a  mother  to  sell  her  child." 

"You  will  never  make  me  believe,"  said  my  grand- 
father, "that  one  can  love  a  dog  as  much  as  a  child. 
I  once  had  a  poodle,  too,  a  match  to  yours,  sergeant 
— without  offense  to  Fontenoy — except  that  the  only 
thing  that  he  ever  took  prisoner  was  the  tax-collec- 
tor's wig.  Well,  one  day,  when  lawyer  Page  was 
dining  with  me,  he  ran  off  with  a  calf's  head,  and 
that  very  night  I  passed  him  under  the  mill-wheel." 

"What  you  say  proves  nothing.    You  have  a  wife 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  51 

and  six  children — quite  enough  of  a  task  for  you  to 
love  them  all  without  forming  a  romantic  affection 
for  a  poodle.  But  I  am  talking  of  a  poor  devil  alone 
among  men  and  with  no  relative  but  his  dog.  Put  a 
man  with  a  dog  on  a  desert  island  and  a  woman  with 
her  child  on  another  desert  island,  and  I  will  wager 
that  in  six  months  the  man  will  love  the  dog  if  the 
dog  is  at  all  lovable,  as  well  as  the  woman  will  love 
her  child." 

"I  can  conceive,"  answered  my  grandfather,  "that 
a  traveler  would  take  a  dog  along  for  company,  or  an 
old  woman  alone  in  her  room  would  keep  a  pug  to 
talk  to  all  day.  But  that  a  man  should  love  a  dog 
with  real  affection,  that  he  should  love  him  as  a 
Christian,  I  deny.  It's  impossible." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  under  certain  circumstances 
you  would  love  even  a  rattlesnake.  The  loving  fiber 
in  man  cannot  remain  inactive.  The  human  soul 
abhors  a  vacuum.  Study  the  most  hardened  egoist 
carefully,  and  you  will  find  an  affection  tucked  away 
in  a  fold  of  his  soul,  like  a  little  flower  among  the 
stones. 

"It  is  a  general  rule,  and  without  exception,  that 
man  must  love  something.  The  dragoon  who  has 
no  mistress  loves  his  horse.  The  young  girl  who  has 
no  lover  loves  her  bird.  The  prisoner,  who  cannot 
in  decency  love  his  jailer,  loves  the  spider  that  spins 
its  web  in  the  window  of  his  cell,  or  the  fly  that  comes 
down  to  him  in  a  ray  of  sunlight.  When  we  find 
nothing  animate  to  expend  our  affections  upon,  we 


52  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

love  mere  matter,  a  ring,  a  snuff-box,  a  tree,  a  flower. 
The  Dutchman  has  a  passion  for  his  tulips,  and  the 
antiquary  for  his  cameos." 

Just  then  Manette's  husband  came  in  with  a  fat 
eel  in  his  basket. 

"Machecourt,"  said  Benjamin,  "it  is  noon,  that  is, 
dinner-time.  What  do  you  say  to  our  making  a  din- 
ner of  this  eel?" 

"It  is  time  to  go,"  said  Machecourt,  "and  we  are 
going  to  dine  at  M.  Minxit's." 

"And  you,  sergeant?  What  do  you  say  to  our 
eating  this  eel?" 

"For  my  part,"  said  the  sergeant,  "I  am  in  no 
hurry.  As  I  am  not  going  anywhere  in  particular, 
I  arrive  at  my  destination  every  night." 

"Very  well  said!  And  the  respectable  poodle, 
what  is  his  opinion  on  the  subject?" 

The  poodle  looked  at  Benjamin  and  wagged  his 
tail  twro  or  three  times. 

"Good.  Silence  gives  consent.  So,  Machecourt, 
there  are  three  of  us  against  your  one.  You  must 
yield  to  the  will  of  the  majority.  You  see,  my  friend, 
the  majority  is  stronger  than  all  the  world.  Put  ten 
philosophers  on  one  side  and  eleven  fools  on  the 
other,  and  the  fools  will  carry  the  day." 

"The  eel  is  indeed  a  very  fine  one,"  said  my  grand- 
father, "and,  if  Manette  has  a  little  fresh  lard,  she 
can  make  an  excellent  dish  of  it.  But,  the  devil! 
what  about  my  writ?  I  must  perform  my  office." 

"Look  here,"  said  Benjamin.    "It  will  undoubtedly 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  53 

be  necessary  for  some  one  to  lend  me  his  arm  to  es- 
cort me  back  to  Clamecy.  If  you  shirk  this  pious 
duty,  I  will  disown  you  as  my  brother-in-law." 

Since  Machecourt  set  store  on  being  Benjamin's 
brother-in-law,  he  remained. 

When  the  eel  was  ready,  they  sat  down  at  table 
again.  Manette's  dish  was  a  masterpiece.  The  ser- 
geant could  not  admire  it  enough.  But  a  cook's  mas- 
terpieces are  ephemeral.  We  scarcely  give  them 
time  to  cool.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  arts  that 
can  be  compared  to  culinary  products — the  products 
of  journalism.  But  even  a  stew  can  be  warmed  over, 
a  pate  de  fole  gras  may  last  a  whole  month,  a  ham 
may  see  its  admirers  gather  about  it  many  times. 
But  a  newspaper  article  has  no  to-morrow.  Before 
we  reach  the  end,  we  have  forgotten  the  beginning, 
and  when  we  have  glanced  through  it,  we  throw  it  on 
our  desk,  as  we  throw  our  napkin  on  the  table  after 
dinner  is  over.  I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  of 
literary  ability  can  consent  to  waste  his  talents  in 
obscure  journalistic  work;  how  a  man  who  might 
write  on  parchment  can  make  up  his  mind  to  scribble 
on  the  blotting-paper  of  a  journal.  Certainly  it  must 
give  him  no  slight  pang  to  see  the  leaves  upon  which 
he  has  placed  his  thought  fall  noiselessly  with  those 
thousand  other  leaves  which  the  immense  tree  of  the 
press  shakes  from  its  branches  daily. 

While  my  uncle  was  philosophising,  the  hand  of 
the  cuckoo  clock  kept  moving  on  and  on.  Benjamin 
did  not  notice  it  was  dark  until  Manette  put  a  lighted 


54  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

candle  on  the  table.  Then,  without  waiting  for  the 
observations  of  Machecourt,  who  for  that  matter  was 
scarcely  in  a  condition  to  observe  anything,  he  de- 
clared they  had  had  enough  for  one  day,  and  it  was 
time  to  return  to  Clamecy. 

The  sergeant  and  my  grandfather  went  out  first. 
Manette  stopped  my  uncle  at  the  threshold. 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  she,  "see  here." 

"What  is  this  scrawl?"  said  my  uncle.  '  'August 
10,  three  bottles  of  wine  with  a  cream  cheese;  Sept- 
ember i,  nine  bottles  and  fish  with  M.  Page.'  God 
forgive  me,  I  believe  it  is  a  bill." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Manette.  "I  see  it  is  time  to 
balance  our  accounts,  and  I  hope  you  will  send  me 
your  bill  soon." 

"I,  Manette,  I  have  no  bill  against  you.  Faith ! 
Rather  a  hard  task  to  touch  the  round  white  arm  of 
a  pretty  woman  like  you." 

"You're  making  fun  of  me,  Monsieur  Rathery," 
said  Manette,  thrilling  with  delight. 

"I  say  it  because  it  is  true,  because  I  think  it.  As 
for  your  bill,  my  poor  Manette,  it  comes  at  a  bad 
time.  I  confess  I  haven't  a  penny  just  now.  But 
here  is  my  watch.  Keep  it  until  I  have  paid  you. 
This  is  quite — convenient.  It  hasn't  been  going  since 
yesterday." 

Manette  began  to  cry,  and  tore  her  bill  to  bits. 

My  uncle  kissed  her  on  her  cheek,  her  forehead, 
her  eyes,  wherever  he  could  find  a  place  to  kiss. 

"Benjamin,"  Manette  whispered  in  his  ear,  lean- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  55 

ing   toward   him,    "if  you   need   money,    tell   me." 

"No,  no,  Manette,"  my  uncle  answered  quickly, 
"I  don't  need  your  money.  The  devil !  That  would 
be  a  pretty  state  of  things — to  make  you  pay  for  the 
happiness  you  give  me !  Why,  that  would  be  an  in- 
dignity. I  should  be  as  vile  as  a  prostitute!"  And 
he  covered  Manette  with  kisses  again. 

"Oho !  Don't  feel  embarrassed,  Monsieur  Rath- 
ery,"  said  Jean-Pierre,  entering. 

"What,  you've  been  here,  Jean-Pierre?  You're 
not  jealous,  are  you  ?  I  warn  you,  I  have  a  profound 
aversion  for  jealous  people." 

"I  think  I  have  a  good  right  to  be  jealous." 

"Imbecile !  You  always  see  things  contrary. 
These  gentlemen  have  charged  me  to  show  your  wife 
their  satisfaction  at  the  excellent  meal  she  gave  us, 
and  I  was  fulfilling  the  commission." 

"It  seems  to  me  you  have  one  good  way  of  showing 
your  satisfaction,  and  that  is  by  paying  your  bill.  Do 
you  understand?" 

"In  the  first  place,  Jean-Pierre,  we  have  nothing 
to  do  with  you.  Manette  is  mistress  here.  As  for 
paying  you,  rest  easy.  That's  my  affair.  You  know 
no  one  ever  loses  anything  by  me.  Besides,  if  you  are 
afraid  of  waiting  too  long,  I  will  run  my  sword 
through  your  body  this  instant.  Does  that  suit  you, 
Jean-Pierre?" 

Here  my  Uncle  Benjamin  went  out. 

Up  to  this  time  he  had  only  been  over-excited. 
All  the  elements  of  intoxication  were  in  him  without 


56  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

his  yet  being  drunk.  But  outside  the  wine-shop,  the 
cold  clutched  at  his  brain  and  his  legs. 

"Hello,  there,  Machecourt,  where  are  you?" 

"Here  I  am,  holding  on  to  your  coat." 

"You  holding  on  to  me?  That's  good.  You 
honour  me,  you  flatter  me.  By  that  you  mean  to  say 
that  I  am  in  a  condition  to  support  upright  both  my 
personality  and  yours.  At  another  time,  yes.  But 
now  I  am  as  weak  as  any  man  who  has  dined  too 
long.  I  have  engaged  your  arm  beforehand.  I 
order  you  to  offer  it  to  me." 

"At  another  time,  yes,"  said  Machecourt.  "But 
there's  a  hitch;  I  cannot  walk  either." 

"Then  you  have  acted  dishonourably.  You  have 
failed  in  the  most  sacred  of  duties.  I  reserved  your 
arm.  You  were  to  save  yourself  for  both  of  us.  But 
I  forgive  you  your  weakness.  Homo  sum.  That  is 
to  say,  I  forgive  you  on  one  condition :  that  you  go 
right  away  and  get  the  town  constable  and  two  peas- 
ants with  torches  to  escort  me  back  to  Clamecy.  You 
can  take  one  of  the  constable's  arms,  and  I  will  take 
the  other." 

"But  the  constable  has  only  one  arm,"  said  my 
grandfather. 

"Then  the  sound  arm  belongs  to  me.  The  only 
thing  I  can  do  for  you  is  to  allow  you  to  hang  on  to 
my  queue.  Only  take  care  not  to  untie  the  ribbon. 
Or,  if  you  prefer,  ride  on  the  poodle's  back." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  sergeant,  "why  go  to  a 
distance  to  look  for  what  is  close  at  hand?  I  have 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  57 

two  sound  arms,  that  the  bullets  have  fortunately 
spared.  I  place  them  at  your  service." 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle, 
taking  the  old  soldier's  right  arm. 

"An  excellent  man,"  said  my  grandfather,  taking 
his  left  arm. 

"I  will  look  out  for  your  future,  sergeant." 

"And  I,  too,  sergeant,  I  take  upon  myself  the  same 
task,  although,  to  tell  the  truth,  any  task  at  the  pres- 
ent moment " 

"I  will  teach  you  how  to  pull  teeth,  sergeant." 

"And  I  will  teach  your  poodle  to  be  a  bailiff's  as- 
sistant." 

"In  three  months  you  will  be  able  to  do  tricks  at 
the  fairs." 

"In  three  months  your  poodle,  if  he  behaves  him- 
self, will  be  able  to  earn  thirty  sous  a  day." 

"The  sergeant  can  begin  by  practising  on  you, 
Machecourt.  You  have  some  decayed  old  stumps 
that  bother  you.  We  will  pull  one  out  every  other 
day  so  as  not  to  wear  you  out,  and  when  we  have 
finished  with  the  stumps,  we  will  pull  out  your 
gums." 

"And  I  will  put  my  bailiff's  assistant  at  the  service 
of  your  creditors,  Monsieur  Debtor,  and  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  in  advance  what  your  duties  toward  him 
will  be.  In  the  morning  you  must  give  him  bread  and 
cheese,  or  a  bunch  of  little  radishes  in  season.  For 
dinner,  soup  and  boiled  beef,  and  for  supper  a  roast 
and  a  salad,  or  a  glass  of  wine  instead  of  the  salad. 


5 8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

You  will  have  to  take  care  that  he  does  not  pine 
away,  for  nothing  does  so  much  honour  to  a  debtor 
as  a  good  fat  keeper.  He,  for  his  part,  must  behave 
properly  toward  you.  He  has  no  right  to  disturb 
you  in  your  occupations,  like  playing  the  clarinet,  or 
sounding  the  hunting  horn." 

"For  the  time  being  I  offer  the  sergeant  shelter  at 
home.  You  do  not  disapprove,  do  you,  Mache- 
court?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  I  very  much  fear  me  your  dear 
sister  will  disown  you." 

"Ah,  gentlemen,"  said  the  sergeant,  "let  us  under- 
stand each  other.  Do  not  expose  me  to  insult.  One 
or  the  other  of  you  will  have  to  answer  for  it." 

"Rest  easy,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle.  "If  anyone 
should  offer  you  insult,  turn  to  me.  Machecourt 
doesn't  know  how  to  fight,  except  when  his  ad- 
versary gives  him  the  sword  and  keeps  the  scab- 
bard." 

Thus  philosophising,  they  reached  the  house.  My 
grandfather  was  not  anxious  to  enter  first,  and  my 
uncle  preferred  to  enter  second. 

To  settle  the  matter,  they  entered  together,  knock- 
ing against  each  other  like  two  gourds  carried  at  the 
end  of  a  stick. 

The  sergeant  and  the  poodle,  whose  intrusion 
made  the  cat  growl  like  a  Bengal  tigress,  brought  up 
the  rear. 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  Benjamin,  "I  have  the  hon- 
our to  present  to  you  a  pupil  in  surgery  and  a " 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  59 

"Benjamin  is  talking  nonsense,"  interrupted  my 
grandfather.  "Don't  listen  to  him.  Monsieur  is  a 
soldier  whom  we  have  been  ordered  to  give  a  lodg- 
ing to.  We  met  him  outside  the  door." 

My  grandmother  was  a  good  woman,  but  some- 
thing of  a  shrew.  She  thought  it  added  to  her  im- 
portance to  talk  very  loud.  She  wanted  badly  to 
get  angry,  and  all  the  more  so  because  she  had  a 
perfect  right  to.  But  she  prided  herself  on  her  good 
breeding,  as  the  descendant  of  a  lawyer,  and  the 
presence  of  a  stranger  restrained  her. 

She  offered  the  sergeant  some  supper.  He  de- 
clined and  for  good  reason,  and  she  told  one  of  her 
children  to  take  him  to  the  tavern  nearby,  and  order 
breakfast  to  be  given  him  in  the  morning  before  he 
left. 

When  my  grandfather,  good,  peaceable  man  that 
he  was,  saw  a  conjugal  tempest  brewing,  he  always 
bent  like  a  reed;  which  weakness  was  excusable  in  a 
degree,  since  he  was  always  in  the  wrong. 

He  had  seen  the  clouds  gathering  on  his  wife's 
knitted  brow,  and  the  sergeant  had  hardly  crossed 
the  threshold,  when  he,  at  his  bed,  scrambled  into  it 
as  best  he  could.  As  for  Benjamin,  he  was  incapable 
of  such  cowardice.  A  sermon  in  five  points,  like  a 
game  of  ecarte,  would  not  have  sent  him  to  bed  a 
minute  before  his  time.  He  was  willing  to  let  his 
sister  scold  him,  but  he  was  not  willing  to  fear  her. 
He  awaited  the  tempest  that  was  about  to  burst  with 
the  indifference  of  a  rock,  his  hands  in  his  pockets 


60  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

and  his  back  resting  against  the  mantel-piece,  while 
he  hummed : 


"Marlbrough  has  gone  to  war, 
Diddledee,  diddledee-dum. 
Marlbrough  has  gone  to  war. 
Who  knows   if  back  he'll  come?" 

My  grandmother  conducted  the  sergeant  to  the 
door,  then,  impatient  for  the  fray,  she  turned  and 
confronted  Benjamin. 

"Well,  Benjamin,  are  you  satisfied  with  your  day's 
work?  You're  feeling  good,  aren't  you?  Shall  I 
draw  a  bottle  of  white  wine  for  you?" 

"Thank  you,  dear  sister.  As  you  have  so  elegantly 
said,  my  day's  work  is  done." 

"A  fine  day's  work,  indeed!  It  would  take  many 
like  it  to  pay  your  debts.  Have  you  sense  enough 
left  at  least  to  tell  me  how  M.  Minxit  received 
you?" 

"Diddledee,  diddlee-dum,  dear  sister,"  said  Ben- 
jamin. 

"Ah!  Diddledee,  diddlee-dum,"  cried  my  grand- 
mother. "You  wait!  I'll  diddlee-dum  you." 

She  seized  the  tongs  and  my  uncle  took  three  steps 
backward  and  drew  his  sword. 

"Dear  sister,"  said  he,  putting  himself  on  guard, 
"I  shall  hold  you  responsible  for  all  the  blood  that 
is  about  to  be  shed  here." 

But  my  grandmother,  though  descended  from  a 
lawyer,  had  no  fear  of  a  sword.  She  dealt  her 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  61 

brother  a  blow  with  the  tongs  that  struck  him  on  the 
thumb  and  made  him  drop  his  sword. 

Benjamin  danced  about  the  room,  squeezing  his 
wounded  thumb  in  his  left  hand.  My  grandfather, 
although  the  kindest  of  men,  was  suffocating  with 
laughter  under  the  bed-clothes.  He  could  not  help 
saying  to  my  uncle : 

"Well,  how  did  you  like  that  thrust?  This  time 
you  had  both  the  scabbard  and  the  sword.  You  can- 
not say  the  weapons  were  not  equal." 

"Alas,  no,  Machecourt,  they  were  not  equal.  I 
ought  to  have  had  the  shovel.  All  the  same,  your 
wife — I  can  no  longer  say  dear  sister — deserves  to 
wear  a  pair  of  tongs  at  her  side  instead  of  a  distaff. 
With  a  pair  of  tongs  she  would  win  battles.  I  am 
conquered,  I  confess,  and  I  must  submit  to  the  law 
of  the  conqueror.  Well,  no,  we  did  not  go  to  Cor- 
vol.  We  stopped  at  Manette's." 

"Always  at  Manette's,  a  married  woman!  Aren't 
you  ashamed  of  such  conduct,  Benjamin?" 

"Ashamed!  Why,  dear  sister?  When  a  landlady 
gets  married,  mayn't  one  eat  at  her  place  any  more? 
That's  not  the  way  I  look  at  it.  To  a  true  philoso- 
pher an  inn  has  no  sex.  Isn't  that  so,  Machecourt?" 

"When  I  meet  her  at  market,  your  Manette,  I 
will  treat  her,  shameless  creature  that  she  is,  as  she 
deserves." 

"Dear  sister,  when  you  meet  Manette  at  market, 
buy  as  many  cream  cheeses  as  you  like  from  her,  but 
if  you  insult  her " 


62  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

(Veil,  if  I  insult  her,  what  will  you  do?" 

"I  will  leave  you,  I  will  go  away  to  the  islands 
and  take  Machecourt  with  me,  I  warn  you." 

My  grandmother  realised  that  her  transports  of 
anger  would  end  in  nothing,  and  forthwith  made  up 
her  mind  to  a  certain  course  of  action. 

"Now  do  what  that  drunkard  over  there  in  bed 
did,"  said  she.  "You  need  to  lie  down  as  much  as 
he.  But  to-morrow  I  myself  will  take  you  to  M. 
Minxit's,  and  we  shall  see  if  you  will  stop  on  the 
way." 

"Diddledee,  diddledee-dum,"  hummed  Benjamin, 
going  off  to  bed. 

The  idea  of  the  step  he  was  to  take  the  next  day 
disturbed  my  uncle's  slumbers,  usually  so  peaceful 
and  profound.  He  dreamed  aloud,  and  this  is  what 
he  said: 

"You  say,  sergeant,  that  you  dined  like  a  king. 
That's  not  the  word.  You  put  it  too  weakly.  You 
have  dined  better  than  an  emperor.  Kings  and  em- 
perors, for  all  their  power,  are  unequal  to  anything 
extra,  and  you  had  something  extra.  You  see,  ser- 
geant, everything  is  relative.  That  dish  of  fish  was 
certainly  not  worth  a  truffled  partridge.  Neverthe- 
less, it  tickled  the  nerves  of  your  palate  more  agree- 
ably than  a  truffled  partridge  would  tickle  the  king's. 
Why?  Because  his  majesty's  palate  is  blase  in  the 
matter  of  truffles,  whereas  yours  is  not  accustomed 
to  fish. 

"My  dear  sister  says  to  me,  'Benjamin,  do  some- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  63 

thing  to  get  rich.  Benjamin,  marry  Mademoiselle 
Minxit  so  as  to  have  a  fine  dowry.'  What  good 
would  that  do  me?  Does  the  butterfly  take  the 
trouble  to  build  a  nest  for  the  sake  of  the  two  or 
three  months  of  fine  days  that  are  the  span  of  its 
life?  I  am  convinced  that  enjoyments  are  relative  to 
position,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the  year  the  beggar 
and  the  rich  man  have  had  the  same  sum  of  happi- 
ness. 

uEach  individual  becomes  accustomed  to  his  situa- 
tion, good  or  bad.  The  cripple  no  longer  notices 
that  he  walks  with  a  crutch,  or  the  rich  man  that  he 
rides  in  a  carriage.  The  wretched  snail  that  carries 
his  house  on  his  back  enjoys  his  day  of  perfume  and 
sunshine  as  much  as  the  bird  chirping  overhead  on 
the  branch.  The  thing  to  be  considered  is  not  the 
cause,  but  the  effect  that  the  cause  produces.  Does 
not  the  day  labourer  resting  on  his  bench  in  front  of 
his  cottage  feel  as  good  as  the  king  on  the  eider-down 
cushions  of  his  armchair?  Does  not  cabbage  soup 
taste  as  good  to  the  peasant  as  crab  chowder  to  the 
king?  And  does  not  the  beggar  sleep  as  well  in  the 
straw  as  the  fine  lady  behind  silk  curtains  and  under 
perfumed  coverlets?  The  child  who  finds  a  sou  is 
happier  than  the  banker  who  finds  a  louis,  and  the 
peasant  who  inherits  an  acre  of  land  is  as  triumphant 
as  the  king  whose  armies  conquer  a  province  and 
who  has  his  people  offer  up  a  Te  Deum. 

"Every  evil  here  below  is  balanced  by  a  good, 
and  every  good  that  parades  itself  is  weakened  by  an 


64  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

invisible  evil.  God  has  a  thousand  ways  of  making 
compensations.  If  he  gives  one  man  good  dinners, 
he  gives  another  man  a  somewhat  better  appetite, 
and  that  restores  the  equilibrium.  He  gives  the  rich 
man  the  fear  of  losses  and  the  worry  over  preserv- 
ing his  property.  To  the  beggar  he  gives  freedom 
from  care.  In  sending  us  into  this  place  of  exile  he 
has  put  upon  us  all  an  almost  equal  burden  of  misery 
and  well-being.  Any  other  arrangement  would  have 
been  unjust,  for  all  men  are  his  children. 

"And  why,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  should  the  rich  man 
be  happier  than  the  poor  man?  He  doesn't  work. 
Very  well.  But  there  he  misses  the  pleasure  of  rest- 
ing from  work. 

"He  has  fine  clothes.  But  the  enjoyment  from 
them  is  with  those  who  look  at  him.  When  the 
church-warden  dresses  iip  a  saint,  does  he  do  it  for 
the  saint  or  for  the  saint's  worshippers?  And  isn't  a 
hump-back  as  much  of  a  hump-back  under  a  velvet 
gown  as  under  jean  overalls? 

"The  rich  man  has  two,  three,  four,  ten  servants. 
My  God!  Why  so  proudly  add  this  quantity  of 
useless  members  to  one's  body,  when  the  four  at- 
tached to  it  perform  all  its  functions?  The  man  ac- 
customed to  service  is  a  miserable  cripple,  who  has 
to  be  fed. 

"The  rich  man  has  a  house  in  the  city  and  a  villa 
in  the  country.  But  of  what  use  is  the  villa  when  the 
owner  is  in  the  house,  or  the  house  when  he  is  in  the 
villa?  Of  what  use  are  the  twenty  rooms  of  his 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  65 

dwellings,  when  he  can  occupy  only  one  room  at  a 
time? 

"His  villa  is  set  in  a  large  park,  surrounded  by  a 
stone  wall  ten  feet  high,  where  he  can  go  walking 
and  dream.  But  suppose  he  has  no  dreams?  And, 
besides,  isn't  the  open  country,  with  only  the  horizon 
to  wall  it  in  and  belonging  to  everybody,  as  beautiful 
as  his  grand  park? 

"The  sickly,  greenish  thread  of  an  artificial 
stream  drags  itself  through  the  park,  with  broad 
water-lily  leaves  sticking  to  it  like  cakes  of  plaster. 
Isn't  the  river  that  flows  through  the  open  country 
cleaner,  hasn't  it  more  of  a  current  than  the  park 
stream? 

"Dahlias  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  varieties  line 
the  rich  man's  walks.  All  right.  I'll  add  four  to 
the  hundred;  which  makes  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
six  varieties.  But  is  not  the  elm-shaded  road  that 
winds  like  a  snake  through  the  grassy  fields  as  good 
as  his  walks?  And  the  hedges  festooned  with  wild 
roses  and  sprinkled  with  hawthorn,  the  hedges  with 
their  bright  foliage  waving  in  the  wind,  scattering 
flowers  by  the  wayside — aren't  they  quite  the  equal 
of  those  dahlias  which  no  one  can  appreciate  except 
the  horticulturist? 

"The  park  belongs  to  the  rich  m?n  exclusively, 
you  say.  You  are  mistaken.  It  is  only  the  pur- 
chase deed  locked  up  in  his  secretary  that  he  owns 
exclusively,  and  that  only  in  case  the  worms  don't 
eat  it. 


66  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"His  park  belongs  to  him  much  less  than  it  does 
to  the  birds  that  build  their  nests  there,  or  to  the 
rabbits  that  browse  amid  the  wild  thyme,  or  the 
insects  that  rustle  in  the  leaves. 

"Can  his  forester  keep  the  snake  from  coiling  in 
the  grass,  or  the  toad  from  nestling  on  the  moss? 

"The  rich  man  gives  festivities.  But  are  not  the 
dances  under  the  old  lindens  of  the  promenade  to 
the  sound  of  the  bag-pipe  also  festivities? 

"The  rich  man  has  a  carriage.  He  has  a  car- 
riage, the  unfortunate  !  Why,  is  he  a  cripple?  There 
is  a  woman  carrying  one  child  in  her  arms,  while 
another  gambols  about  her,  chasing  after  the  butter- 
flies and  picking  flowers.  Which  of  the  two  worms 
is  better  off?  A  carriage!  But  a  carriage  is  an 
infirmity.  Let  a  wheel  break,  or  a  horse  cast  a  shoe, 
and  there  you  are  a  cripple.  Those  grandees  who, 
in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  had  themselves  carried 
to  the  ball-room  on  a  litter,  poor  people  who  had 
legs  to  dance  with  and  none  to  walk  with — how 
much  they  must  have  suffered  from  the  fatigue  of 
those  who  carried  them! 

"You  think  riding  in  a  carriage  is  enjoyment  to 
the  rich  man.  Not  a  bit.  It's  only  a  sort  of  slavery 
that  his  vanity  imposes  upon  him.  If  it  weren't,  why 
should  this  gentleman  and  this  lady,  who  are  as 
thin  as  a  bundle  of  thorns  and  whom  a  donkey  could 
carry  with  the  greatest  ease,  harness  four  horses  to 
their  coach? 

"For  my  part,  when  I  am  on  the  sward  ankle- 


MY  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  67 

deep  in  moss,  or  wandering  along  with  my  hands  in 
my  pockets,  dreaming,  the  blue  smoke  from  my 
blackened  pipe  trailing  behind  me  like  a  shade  from 
the  underworld;  or  when,  in  the  exquisite  moon- 
light, I  stride  along  the  white  road,  shadowed  by 
the  hedges,  I  should  like  to  see  anyone  dare  to  offer 
me  a  carriage." 

Here  my  uncle  awoke. 

"What,"  you  say,  "your  uncle  dreamed  all  that? 
And  out  loud?" 

Why,  what's  so  surprising  in  that?  Did  not 
Madam  George  Sand  have  the  reverend  father 
Spiridion  dream  a  whole  chapter  of  one  of  her  nov- 
els out  loud?  And  didn't  M.  Golbery  dream  aloud 
for  a  whole  hour  in  the  Chamber  about  a  proposition 
on  the  report  of  the  parliamentary  debates?  And 
we  ourselves,  have  we  not  been  dreaming  for  the 
last  thirteen  years  that  we  made  a  revolution?  When 
my  uncle  had  no  time  during  the  day  to  philoso- 
phise, he  made  up  by  philosophising  in  his  dreams. 
That  is  how  I  explain  the  phenomenon  I  have  just 
told  you  about. 


CHAPTER    IV 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  PASSED  HIMSELF  OFF  FOR  THE 
WANDERING  JEW 

MEANWHILE  my  grandmother  put  on  her  dove- 
coloured  silk  dress,  which  she  took  from  her  drawer 
only  on  solemn  and  festive  occasions.  She  tied  her 
round  cap  on  with  the  finest  of  her  ribbons,  cerise- 
coloured  and  as  broad  as  one's  hand  and  broader. 
She  got  ready  her  cloak  of  black  taffeta  trimmed 
with  black  lace  and  took  her  new  lynx  muff  out  of  its 
box,  a  present  from  Benjamin  on  her  birthday.  He 
still  owed  for  it.  When  finished  dressing  up,  she 
ordered  one  of  her  children  to  go  hire  M.  Durand's 
donkey,  a  fine  little  animal,  which  had  cost  three 
pistoles,  at  the  last  fair  at  Billy,  and  was  let  for 
thirty-six  deniers  more  than  ordinary  donkeys. 

Then  she  called  Benjamin.  When  he  came  down, 
M.  Durand's  donkey  was  fastened  before  the  door 
eating  his  provender  of  bran  out  of  a  basket  set  on 
a  chair.  A  large,  pure  white  pillow  was  laid  between 
the  two  baskets  slung  across  his  back. 

Benjamin  first  inquired  anxiously  whether  Mache- 
court  was  there  to  drink  a  glass  of  white  wine  with 
him.  His  sister  told  him  he  had  gone  out. 

68 


MY  UNCLE  AS  THE  WANDERING  JEW  69 

"Then  I  hope,  my  good  sister,  that  you  will  be 
friendly  enough  to  take  a  little  glass  of  cordial  with 
me."  For  my  uncle's  stomach  knew  how  to  accom- 
modate itself  to  all  stomachs. 

My  grandmother  did  not  dislike  cordial,  on  the 
contrary,  she  was  very  fond  of  it.  So  she  accepted 
Benjamin's  invitation,  and  permitted  him  to  get  the 
decanter.  Then  after  admonishing  my  father,  who 
was  the  oldest  child,  not  to  beat  his  brothers,  and 
telling  Premoins,  who  was  ill,  to  ask  for  anything 
he  needed,  and  assigning  to  Surgie  a  piece  of  knitting 
to  be  done,  my  grandmother  mounted  the  donkey. 

Long  live  the  earth  and  the  sun !  The  neighbours 
gathered  in  their  doorways  to  witness  her  departure; 
for  in  those  days  a  middle  class  woman  dressed  up 
on  a  week-day  was  an  event,  and  everyone  who 
saw  it  tried  to  guess  the  reason  therefor  and  built 
up  a  whole  system  of  speculation  on  it. 

Benjamin,  clean-shaven  and  superabundantly  pow- 
dered and  red  as  a  poppy  spreading  its  petals  in  the 
morning  sun  after  a  stormy  night,  followed  behind, 
uttering  from  time  to  time  a  vigourous  "Gee-hup"  in 
a  chest  C,  and  pricking  the  donkey  with  the  point  of 
his  rapier. 

M.  Durand's  donkey,  under  my  uncle's  sword 
pricks,  went  at  a  good  pace,  too  good,  in  fact,  to 
suit  my  grandmother,  who  bobbed  up  and  down  on 
her  pillow  like  a  shuttlecock  on  a  battledore.  But  at 
some  distance  from  the  point  where  the  road  to 
Moulot  separates  from  the  road  to  La  Chapelle  to 


70  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

reach  its  modest  destination,  she  perceived  that  the 
donkey  had  slowed  down,  like  a  stream  of  molten 
metal  which  thickens  and  moves  slower  the  farther 
it  gets  from  the  furnace.  Its  bell,  which  had  been 
jingling  emphatically  and  proudly,  now  gave  forth 
only  spasmodic  sighs,  like  a  voice  dying  away.  My 
grandmother  turned  around  to  ask  Benjamin  what 
was  the  matter,  but  he  had  disappeared,  melted  like 
a  ball  of  wax,  conjured  away,  lost  like  a  fly  in  space. 
No  one  could  give  her  any  information  about  him. 
You  can  imagine  her  vexation  at  his  sudden  disap- 
pearance. He  was  not  worth  the  trouble  they  took 
for  his  happiness,  she  said  to  herself.  His  indif- 
ference was  incurable.  He  would  always  stagnate 
like  a  marsh  whose  waters  could  not  be  made 
to  flow  in  a  channel.  For  a  moment  she  felt  a 
desire  to  abandon  him  to  his  destiny  and  not  even 
iron  his  shirts  any  more.  But  her  queenly  char- 
acter asserted  itself.  She  had  begun,  and  she  must 
finish.  She  swore  she  would  find  Benjamin  again  and 
take  him  to  M.  Minxit's,  even  if  he  had  to  be  tied 
to  her  donkey's  tail.  It  is  such  firmness  of  resolu- 
tion that  carries  great  enterprises  to  their  con- 
clusion. 

A  peasant  boy,  who  was  watching  his  sheep  at  the 
fork  of  the  two  roads,  told  her  the  man  in  red  she 
was  missing  had  gone  down  toward  the  village  nearly 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  before.  My  grandmother 
turned  the  donkey  in  that  direction,  and  such  was  the 
influence  of  her  indignation  upon  the  beast  that  he 


MY  UNCLE  AS  THE  WANDERING  JEW  71 

began  to  trot  of  himself,  out  of  pure  deference  to  his 
rider,  as  if  he  desired  to  do  homage  to  her  grand 
character. 

The  village  of  Moulot  was  in  a  state  of  unwonted 
commotion.  The  Moulotats,  usually  so  staid  and 
with  no  more  fermentation  in  their  brains  than  in  a 
cream  cheese,  seemed  all  to  be  in  great  excitement. 
The  peasants  were  hurrying  down  from  the  hill- 
sides round  about.  The  women  and  children  came 
running,  calling  to  each  other.  Every  spinning-wheel 
was  abandoned,  every  distaff  came  to  a  standstill. 
My  grandmother  inquired  the  cause  of  the  commo- 
tion. They  told  her  the  Wandering  Jew  had  just 
arrived  at  Moulot  and  was  lunching  in  the  market- 
place. She  realised  instantly  that  the  pretended 
Wandering  Jew  was  none  other  than  Benjamin;  and, 
indeed,  from  her  donkey's  back  she  soon  caught  sight 
of  him  in  the  middle  of  a  circle  of  idle  by- 
standers. 

The  gable  of  his  three-cornered  hat  rose  above 
this  moving  ribbon  of  black  and  white  heads  majes- 
tically, as  the  slate-coloured  church  steeple  rises 
above  the  thatched  roofs  of  a  village.  They  had  set 
a  small  table  for  him  in  the  market-place  itself,  and 
served  him  with  a  pint  flask  of  wine  and  a  little  loaf 
of  bread.  He  walked  up  and  down  before  the  table 
with  the  gravity  of  a  sacrificiant,  now  taking  a  swal- 
low of  white  wine,  now  breaking  a  bit  from  the  loaf. 

My  grandmother  urged  her  donkey  into  the 
crowd  and  soon  found  herself  in  the  front  row. 


72  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  you  wretch?"  said 
she  to  my  uncle,  shaking  her  fist  at  him. 

"You  see,  Madame,  I  wander.  I  am  Ahasuerus, 
commonly  called  the  Wandering  Jew.  In  the  course 
of  my  travels  I  have  heard  much  said  of  the  beauty 
of  this  little  village  and  the  cordiality  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, so  I  resolved  to  lunch  here."  Then,  approach- 
ing her,  he  said  in  a  low  voice:  "In  five  minutes  I 
will  follow  you,  but  not  a  word  more,  I  beg  of  you. 
The  harm  might  be  irreparable.  These  imbeciles 
would  be  capable  of  killing  me,  if  they  were  to  dis- 
cover that  I  am  making  fun  of  them." 

The  praise  of  Moulot  that  Benjamin  had  suc- 
ceeded in  interjecting  into  his  reply  to  his  sister  re- 
paired, or  rather  prevented,  the  defeat  that  her  im- 
prudent words  would  otherwise  have  caused  him, 
and  a  thrill  of  pride  ran  through  the  assembly. 

"Monsieur  Wandering  Jew,"  said  a  peasant  in 
whose  mind  still  lingered  some  doubt,  "who  is  that 
lady  who  just  now  shook  her  fist  at  you?" 

"My  good  friend,"  answered  my  uncle,  by  no 
means  disconcerted,  "she  is  the  Holy  Virgin.  God 
ordered  me  to  escort  her  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusa- 
lem on  that  little  ass.  She  is  really  a  good  woman, 
but  a  little  talkative.  She  is  in  a  temper  this  morn- 
ing because  she  has  lost  her  rosary." 

"Why  isn't  the  infant  Jesus  with  her?" 

"God  did  not  wish  her  to  take  him  along,  because 
he  has  chicken-pox  just  now." 

Then  the  objections  began  to  rain  down  on  Ben- 


MY  UNCLE  AS  THE  WANDERING  JEW  73 

jamin  as  thick  as  hail.  But  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
intimidated  by  the  Moulot  blockheads.  Danger  elec- 
trified him,  and  he  parried  all  the  thrusts  aimed  at 
him  with  admirable  dexterity;  which  did  not  prevent 
him  from  every  now  and  then  moistening  his  throat 
with  a  swallow  of  white  wine.  And,  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  was  already  at  his  seventh  pint. 

The  village  schoolmaster,  in  the  capacity  of  learned 
man,  was  the  first  to  enter  the  lists. 

"Then  how  does  it  happen,  Monsieur  Wandering 
Jew,  that  you  have  no  beard?  In  the  Ballad  of 
Brussels  it  says  that  you  have  a  thick  beard,  and  you 
are  represented  everywhere  with  a  long  white  beard 
reaching  to  your  girdle." 

"It  was  too  dirty,  Monsieur  schoolmaster.  I 
asked  the  good  God  to  let  me  go  without  that  horrid 
big  beard,  and  he  put  it  in  my  queue  instead." 

"But  how  do  you  manage  to  shave,  since  you  can- 
not stop?"  the  teacher  insisted. 

"God  has  provided  for  that,  my  dear  Monsieur 
schoolmaster.  Every  morning  he  sends  me  the  pat- 
ron saint  of  the  barbers  in  the  shape  of  a  butterfly, 
who  shaves  me  with  the  edge  of  his  wing,  while 
hovering  around  me." 

"But,  Monsieur  Jew,1'  the  schoolmaster  continued, 
"the  good  God  has  been  very  stingy  with  you  in 
giving  you  only  five  sous  at  a  time." 

"My  friend,"  rejoined  my  uncle,  crossing  his  arms 
over  his  breast  and  bowing  profoundly,  "let  us  bless 


74  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

the  decrees  of  God.  Probably  that  is  all  the  money 
he  had  in  his  pocket." 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  know,"  said  the  old 
tailor  of  the  place,  uhow  they  succeeded  in  taking 
the  measure  for  your  coat,  which  fits  you  like  a  glove, 
since  you  are  never  at  rest?" 

"You,  who  are  of  the  trade,  you  should  have  no- 
ticed that  this  coat  was  not  made  by  the  hand  of  man. 
Twice  a  year  one  grows  on  my  back,  on  the  first  of 
April,  a  light  one  of  red  serge,  and  on  All  Saints' 
Day  a  heavy  one  of  red  velvet." 

"Then,"  put  in  a  fair-haired  youngster  with  a 
roguish  face,  "you  must  wear  your  coats  out  very 
fast.  All  Saints'  Day  isn't  two  weeks  past,  and 
your  coat  is  threadbare  already  and  white  along  the 


seams. 


I 


Unfortunately  for  the  little  philosopher  his  father 
was  standing  beside  him.  "Go  back  to  the  house 
and  see  if  I'm  there,"  he  said,  giving  him  a  kick  on 
his  buttocks  and  begging  my  uncle  to  excuse  the  im- 
pertinence of  this  little  fellow,  whose  schoolmaster 
neglected  to  teach  him  religion  properly. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  the  schoolmaster,  "I  call  you 
all  to  witness,  and  Monsieur  Wandering  Jew  also, 
that  Nicholas  has  libelled  me.  He  continually  assails 
the  village  authorities.  I  am  going  to  pull  his 
tongue." 

"Yes,"  said  Nicholas,  "there's  a  fine  authority  for 
you.  Bring  charges  against  me  as  much  as  you  like. 
I  shall  not  find  it  hard  to  prove  that  what  I  say  is 


MY  UNCLE  AS  THE  WANDERING  JEW  75 

true.  Just  let  the  judge  question  my  boy  Charlie. 
The  other  day  I  asked  him  which  one  of  Jacob's 
sons  was  the  most  remarkable,  and  he  answered 
Pharaoh.  Mother  Pintot  is  my  witness." 

"Oh,  gentlemen,"  said  my  uncle,  "do  not  quarrel 
on  my  account.  I  should  be  grieved  if  my  arrival  in 
this  beautiful  village  were  to  be  the  occasion  of  a  law- 
suit. The  wool  has  not  yet  fully  grown  on  my  coat, 
as  it  is  only  St.  Martin's  Day  now.  That  is  what 
led  little  Charlie  into  error.  Monsieur  schoolmaster 
was  unaware  of  this  circumstance,  and  consequently 
could  not  teach  it  to  his  pupils.  I  hope  M.  Nicholas 
is  satisfied  with  this  explanation." 


CHAPTER   V 

MY  UNCLE  WORKS  A  MIRACLE 

MY  uncle  was  about  to  break  up  the  meeting,  when 
he  noticed  a  pretty  peasant  girl  trying  to  make  her 
way  through  the  crowd.  As  he  loved  young  girls  at 
least  as  well  as  Jesus  Christ  loved  little  children,  he 
signalled  to  the  bystanders  to  allow  her  to  approach. 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  know,"  said  the  young 
Moulotate  with  her  finest  courtesy,  the  courtesy  she 
made  to  the  bailiff  when  she  met  him  on  the  way  as 
she  was  carrying  cream  to  him,  "I  should  like  to 
know  whether  what  old  Gothon  says  is  really  true. 
She  says  you  work  miracles." 

"Undoubtedly,"  answered  my  uncle,  "when  they 
are  not  too  difficult." 

"Then  could  you  cure  my  father  by  a  miracle? 
Since  this  morning  he  has  been  sick  with  a  disease 
that  nobody  knows  about." 

"Why  not?"  said  my  uncle.  "But  first  of  all,  my 
pretty  child,  you  must  permit  me  to  kiss  you.  Other- 
wise the  miracle  won't  work." 

And  he  kissed  the  young  Moulotate  on  both 
cheeks,  damned  sinner  that  he  was. 

"See  here,"  a  voice  from  the  rear  exclaimed,  a 
76 


MY  UNCLE  WORKS  A   MIRACLE     77 
voice  he  knew  well,  "does  the  Wandering  Jew  kiss 


women?" 


He  turned  and  saw  Manette. 

"Undoubtedly,  my  beautiful  lady.  God  permits 
rne  to  kiss  three  a  year.  This  is  the  second  one  I 
have  kissed  this  year,  and.  if  you  will  allow  me.  you 
shall  be  the  third." 

The  idea  of  working  a  miracle  fired  Benjamin's 
ambition.  To  pass  himself  off  for  the  Wandering 
Jew,  even  at  Moulot,  was  much,  was  immense,  was 
enough  to  make  all  the  bright  wits  of  Clamecy  jeal- 
ous. He  took  rank  immediately  among  the  famous 
mystifiers,  and  lawyer  Page  wouldn't  dare  to  speak 
to  him  again  of  his  hare  changed  into  a  rabbit.  Who 
would  dare  to  compare  himself  in  audacity  and  re- 
sources of  imagination  with  Benjamin  Rathery  when 
once  he  had  worked  a  miracle?  And  who  knows? 
Perhaps  future  generations  would  take  the  thing 
seriously.  If  he  were  to  be  canonized,  if  they  were 
to  make  a  big  saint  of  red  wood  in  his  image,  read 
a  mass  in  his  honour,  give  him  a  niche,  a  place  in  the 
almanac,  an  Ora  pro  nobls  in  the  litanies,  if  he  should 
become  the  patron  saint  of  a  good  parish,  if  they 
were  to  celebrate  his  birthday  every  year  with  in- 
cense, crown  him  with  flowers,  decorate  him  with 
ribbons,  place  ^  ripe  grape  in  his  hands,  enshrine  his 
red  coat  in  a  reliquary,  and  give  him  a  church-warden 
to  wash  his  face  every  week.  If  he  should  work 
cures  of  the  plague  or  hydrophobia  !  But  everything 
depended  upon  his  carrying  this  miracle  out  sue- 


78  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

cessfully.  If  only  he  had  seen  a  few  miracles  per- 
formed! But  how  was  he  to  go  about  it?  And  if 
he  failed,  he  would  be  scoffed  at,  jeered,  vilified, 
possibly  beaten.  He  would  lose  all  the  glory  of  the 
hoax  so  well  begun.  "Ah,  bah !"  said  my  uncle, 
pouring  a  large  glass  of  wine  to  inspire  him.  "Provi- 
dence will  provide.  Audaces  fortuna  juvat.  Be- 
sides, a  miracle  asked  for  is  a  miracle  half  per- 
formed." 

So  he  followed  the  peasant  girl,  a  long  tail  of 
Moulotats  dragging  after  him  like  a  comet.  On  en- 
tering the  house,  he  saw  a  peasant  lying  on  the  bed, 
his  jaws  so  out  of  place  that  he  looked  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  eat  his  ear.  Benjamin  inquired  how  the 
accident  had  happened,  and  whether  it  was  not  the 
result  of  a  yawn  or  an  outburst  of  laughter. 

"It  happened  this  morning  at  breakfast,"  an- 
swered his  wife,  "while  he  was  trying  to  break  a  nut 
with  his  teeth." 

"Good,"  said  my  uncle,  his  face  lighting  up.  "Did 
you  call  anybody?" 

"We  sent  for  M.  Arnout.  He  said  it  was  an  at- 
tack of  paralysis." 

"You  could  not  have  done  better.  I  see  Doctor 
Arnout  knows  paralysis  as  well  as  if  he  had  in- 
vented it.  What  did  he  prescribe?" 

"The  medicine  in  this  bottle." 

My  uncle  examined  the  drug,  saw  it  was  an  emetic, 
and  threw  the  bottle  into  the  street.  His  assurance 
produced  an  excellent  effect. 


MY  UNCLE  WORKS  A  MIRACLE     79 

"Monsieur  Jew."  said  the  good  woman,  "I  see 
you  are  capable  of  performing  the  miracle  we  want." 

"I  could  work  a  hundred  miracles  like  this  a  day 
if  I  were  supplied  with  them." 

He  had  an  iron  spoon  brought  and  wound  several 
thicknesses  of  fine  linen  about  the  broad  end.  This 
improvised  instrument  he  introduced  into  the  pa- 
tient's mouth,  raised  the  upper  jaw,  which  was  pro- 
truding over  the  lower  jaw,  and  put  it  back  in  its 
place.  For  the  disease  from-  which  this  Moulotat 
suffered  was  nothing  but  a  dislocated  jaw,  which  my 
uncle  had  discerned  at  once  with  those  gray  eyes  of 
his  which  penetrated  everything  like  nails.  The  para- 
lytic of  the  morning  declared  he  was  completely 
cured,  and  ravenously  attacked  a  cabbage  soup  that 
had  been  prepared  for  the  family  dinner. 

With  the  rapidity  of  lightning  the  report  spread 
among  the  crowd  that  father  Pintot  was  eating  cab- 
bage soup.  The  sick,  the  halt,  the  lame,  the  blind, 
all  implored  my  uncle's  help.  Mother  Pintot,  very 
proud  of  the  miracle's  having  been  performed  in  her 
family,  introduced  one  of  her  cousins  to  my  uncle  to 
straighten  out  his  body.  His  left  shoulder  looked 
like  a  ham.  But  my  uncle  was  loath  to  risk  his  repu- 
tation, and  answered  that  the  best  he  could  do  would 
be  to  transfer  the  hump  from  the  left  to  the  right 
shoulder,  which  was  a  very  painful  miracle  that 
scarcely  two  out  of  ten  hump-backs  of  the  common 
sort  had  the  strength  to  endure. 

Then  he  told  the  Moulotats  that  he  was  sorry 


8o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

not  to  be  able  to  stay  there  longer,  but  he  did  not 
dare  keep  the  Holy  Virgin  waiting  any  more.  And 
he  went  to  join  his  sister,  who  was  warming  her 
feet  in  the  village  tavern  and  had  had  time  to  have 
the  donkey  fed. 

My  uncle  and  my  grandmother  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  escaping  from  the  crowd,  and  the  vil- 
lage bell  was  rung  as  long  as  they  were  in  sight.  My 
grandmother  did  not  scold  Benjamin.  After  all  she 
was  more  pleased  than  vexed.  The  way  in  which 
Benjamin  had  extricated  himself  from  the  severe 
test  flattered  her  sisterly  pride,  and  she  said  that 
a  man  like  Benjamin  was  well  worth  Mademoiselle 
Minxit,  even  with  an  income  of  two  or  three  thou- 
sand francs  thrown  in. 

The  news  of  the  Wandering  Jew  and  the  Holy 
Virgin,  and  even  that  of  the  ass,  had  already  reached 
La  Chapelle.  When  they  entered  the  town,  the 
women  were  kneeling  in  their  doorways,  and  Ben- 
jamin, whose  wits  never  failed  him,  gave  them  his 
blessing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MONSIEUR  MINXIT 

MONSIEUR  MINXIT  received  my  uncle  and  my 
grandmother  very  pleasantly.  He  was  a  doctor,  I 
know  not  why.  He  had  not  spent  his  youth  in  the 
company  of  corpses.  One  fine  day  the  science  of 
medicine  sprouted  in  his  head  like  a  mushroom.  If 
he  knew  medicine,  it  was  because  he  had  invented 
it.  His  parents  had  never  dreamed  of  giving  him  a 
liberal  education.  The  only  Latin  he  knew  was  the 
Latin  on  the  labels  of  his  bottles,  and  at  that  had  he 
depended  on  the  labels,  he  would  often  have  given 
hemlock  for  parsley.  He  had  a  fine  library,  but  he 
never  poked  his  nose  into  his  books.  He  said  that 
since  these  old  books  had  been  written,  man's  tem- 
perament had  changed.  Some  people  even  said  that 
all  those  precious  works  were  only  cardboard  imita- 
tions with  names  celebrated  in  medicine  printed  in 
gilt  on  the  backs.  What  confirmed  them  in  their 
opinion  was  that  whenever  any  one  asked  to  see  the 
library,  M.  Minxit  had  lost  the  key.  However,  he 
was  an  intelligent  man,  endowed  with  a  good  dose 
of  common  sense.  He  made  up  for  lack  of  printed 
knowledge  by  large  practical  experience.  Since  he 

81 


82  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

was  actually  ignorant,  he  soon  realized  that  in  order 
to  succeed  he  must  persuade  the  multitude  that  he 
knew  more  than  his  rivals,  and  he  made  a  specialty 
of  urines.  After  twenty  years'  study  of  the  science, 
he  succeeded  in  distinguishing  those  that  were  cloudy 
from  those  that  were  clear,  which  did  not  prevent 
him  from  telling  every  one  who  came  to  him  that 
he  could  tell  a  great  man,  a  king,  or  a  minister  by 
his  urine.  As  there  were  no  kings  or  ministers  or 
great  men  in  the  vicinity,  he  had  no  fear  of  being 
caught. 

M.  Minxit  had  very  decided  mannerisms.  He 
talked  loud,  a  great  deal,  and  incessantly.  He 
guessed  what  words  were  likely  to  impress  the  peas- 
ants and  knew  how  to  use  them  effectively  in  his 
talk.  He  had  the  gift  of  deceiving  the  people,  a  gift 
which  consists  of  I  know  not  what  impalpable  qual- 
ity, impossible  to  describe,  teach,  or  imitate.  It  is 
the  inexplicable  gift  by  which  a  shower  of  pennies 
falls  into  a  simple  surgeon's  pocket,  and  by  which  the 
great  man  wins  battles  and  founds  empires;  the  gift 
that  in  some  takes  the  place  of  genius,  and  that 
Napoleon  of  all  men  possessed  in  a  supreme  degree. 
I  call  it  plain  charlatanism.  It  is  not  my  fault  if 
the  instrument  with  which  Swiss  tea  is  sold  is  the 
same  as  the  one  with  which  a  throne  is  built.  In 
the  whole  neighbourhood  no  one  was  willing  to  die 
except  at  M.  Minxit's  hands.  However,  he  did  not 
abuse  his  privilege.  He  was  no  more  of  a  murderer 
than  his  rivals,  only  he  made  more  money  with  his 


MONSIEUR   MINXIT  83 

many-coloured  vials  than  they  did  with  their  pre- 
scriptions. He  had  acquired  a  handsome  fortune, 
and  also  had  the  faculty  of  spending  his  money  to 
a  good  purpose.  He  seemed  to  give  everything  as  if 
it  cost  nothing,  and  ,his  clients,  who  streamed  to 
him,  always  found  open  table  at  his  house. 

My  uncle  and  M.  Minxit  were  certain  to  be  friends 
as  soon  as  they  met.  These  two  natures  resembled 
each  other  to  the  dot.  They  were  as  alike  as  two 
drops  of  wine,  as  two  spoons  cast  in  the  same  mould. 
They  had  the  same  appetites,  and  the  same  tastes, 
the  same  passions,  the  same  way  of  looking  at  things, 
the  same  political  opinions.  Both  cared  little  about 
those  thousand  little  accidents,  those  thousand  micro- 
scopic catastrophes,  which  we  other  fools  make  such 
an  ado  about.  The  man  without  a  philosophy  amid 
the  miseries  here  below  is  like  a  man  going  bare- 
headed in  the  rain.  The  philosopher,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  an  umbrella  to  shield  him  against  the 
storm.  That  was  their  opinion.  They  looked  upon 
life  as  a  farce,  and  they  played  their  parts  in  it  as 
gaily  as  possible.  They  had  a  sovereign  contempt 
for  those  ill-advised  people  who  make  one  long  sob 
of  their  life.  They  wished  theirs  to  be  one  long 
spell  of  laughter.  Age  had  made  no  difference  be- 
tween them,  except  for  a  few  wrinkles.  They  were 
like  two  trees  of  the  same  species,  one  old  and  the 
other  in  the  full  vigour  of  its  sap,  but  bearing  the 
same  flower  and  the  same  fruit.  Consequently  the 
future  father-in-law  formed  a  prodigious  friendship 


84  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

for  his  son-in-law,  and  the  son-in-law  professed  a 
high  esteem  for  the  father-in-law,  all  but  his  vials. 
Nevertheless  my  uncle  entered  into  the  alliance  with 
M.  Minxit  reluctantly.  He  consented  because  his 
reason  told  him  to  and  because  he  did  not  wish  to  dis- 
please his  dear  sister. 

Since  M.  Minxit  loved  Benjamin,  he  found  it 
quite  natural  that  his  daughter  should  love  him,  too. 
For  every  father,  however  good  he  may  be,  loves 
himself  in  the  person  of  his  children.  He  looks 
upon  them  as  beings  who  ought  to  contribute  to  his 
comfort.  If  he  chooses  a  son-in-law,  he  does  so  in 
the  first  place  largely  for  himself  and  then  a  little 
for  his  daughter.  If  he  is  avaricious,  he  gives  her 
to  a  skinflint.  If  he  is  a  noble,  he  welds  her  to  an 
escutcheon.  If  he  is  fond  of  chess,  he  gives  her  to 
a  chess-player,  for  he  must  have  some  one  to  play 
with  him  in  his  old  age.  His  daughter  is  a  piece  of 
property  which  he  shares  with  his  wife.  Whether  the 
property  is  enclosed  by  a  flowering  hedge  or  by  a 
great  ugly  brick  wall,  whether  it  is  cultivated  to 
produce  roses  or  rape-seed,  is  none  of  the  property's 
business.  The  property  has  no  advice  to  give  to  the 
experienced  agriculturist;  it  is  unskilled  in  selecting 
the  seed  best  suited  to  it.  Provided  the  souls  and 
consciences  of  these  good  parents  tell  them  their 
daughter  is  happy,  that  is  enough.  It  is  for  her  to 
accommodate  herself  to  her  condition.  Every  night 
the  wife  when  doing  up  her  curls  and  the  husband 
when  putting  on  his  nightcap  congratulate  them- 


MONSIEUR   MINXIT  85 

selves  on  having  married  their  child  off  so  well. 
She  does  not  love  her  husband,  but  she  will  get  to. 
With  patience  one  can  accomplish  anything.  They 
do  not  know  what  a  husband  she  does  not  love 
means  to  a  woman.  It  is  like  a  burning  cinder  that 
you  cannot  get  out  of  your  eye,  or  a  steady  tooth- 
ache. Some  women  die  of  the  anguish.  Others  go 
elsewhere  in  search  of  the  love  they  cannot  get  from 
the  corpse  to  which  they  have  been  attached.  And 
some  gently  drop  a  pinch  of  arsenic  into  their  for- 
tunate husbands'  soup\  and  have  their  tombstones 
inscribed,  "he  leaves  an  inconsolable  widow."  Such 
is  the  result  of  the  pretended  infallibility  and  the  dis- 
guised egoism  of  the  good  parents. 

If  a  young  girl  wanted  to  marry  a  monkey  who 
had  been  naturalised  as  a  man  and  a  Frenchman, 
the  father  and  mother  would  not  consent,  and  the 
jocko  would  certainly  have  to  serve  the  acte  respec- 
tueux.  Good  parents,  you  say.  They  do  not  wish 
their  daughter  to  make  herself  unhappy.  Detest- 
able egoists,  I  say.  There  is  nothing  more  absurd 
than  to  put  your  own  way  of  feeling  in  place  of 
another's:  It  is  like  trying  to  substitute  your  own 
body  for  his.  Here's  a  man  who  wants  to  die.  He 
probably  has  good  reasons  for  wanting  to  die. 
This  young  girl  wants  to  marry  a  monkey.  She 
probably  prefers  a  monkey  to  a  man.  Why  refuse 
her  the  chance  of  being  happy  in  her  own  way?  If 
she  thinks  she  is  happy  who  has  the  right  to  say 
she  is  not?  The  monkey  will  scratch  her  in  caress- 


86  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

ing  her.  What's  that  to  you?  She'd  rather  be 
scratched  than  caressed.  Besides,  if  her  husband 
scratches  her,  it  is  not  her  mamma's  cheek  that  will 
bleed.  Who  objects  to  the  dragon-fly's  hovering 
over  the  reeds  in  the  marshes  instead  of  over  the 
rose-bushes  in  the  garden?  Does  the  pike  reproach 
the  eel,  its  god-mother,  for  always  staying  in  the 
mud  at  the  bottom  instead  of  rising  to  the  water 
rippling  at  the  surface? 

Do  you  know  why  these  good  parents  refuse  their 
blessing  to  their  daughter  and  her  jocko?  The 
father  refuses  because  he  wants  a  voter  for  a  son- 
in-law,  with  whom  he  can  talk  literature  or  politics. 
The  mother  refuses  because  she  needs  a  personable 
young  man  to  give  her  his  arm,  take  her  to  the 
play,  and  go  out  walking  with  her. 

M.  Minxit,  after  having  uncorked  some  of  his 
best  bottles  with  Benjamin,  showed  him  through  his 
house,  his  cellar,  his  barn,  and  his  stables.  He  took 
him  on  a  walk  through  his  garden  and  all  around  a 
large  meadow  stretching  away  from  the  back  of 
his  house.  It  was  planted  with  trees  and  watered  by 
a  stream  fed  at  one  end  by  a  gushing  spring  and 
forming  a  fish-pond  at  the  other  end.  All  this  was 
greatly  to  be  coveted.  But,  alas,  fortune  does  not 
give  anything  for  nothing,  and  in  exchange  for  all 
this  comfort  it  was  necessary  to  marry  Mademoiselle 
Minxit. 

After  all,  Mademoiselle  Minxit  was  as  good  as  an- 
other; she  was  only  two  inches  too  tall;  she  was 


MONSIEUR  MINXIT  87 

neither  dark  nor  light,  neither  blond  nor  red,  neither 
stupid  nor  witty.  She  was  a  woman  like  twenty-five 
out  of  thirty.  She  knew  how  to  talk  very  pertinently 
of  a  thousand  trifles,  and  made  very  good  cream 
cheese.  It  was  much  less  against  her  than  against 
marriage  in  general  that  my  uncle  rebelled,  and  if 
she  had  displeased  him  at  first,  it  was  because  he 
had  looked  upon  her  as  a  heavy  chain. 

"So  you  have  seen  my  estate,"  said  M.  Minxit. 
"When  you  are  my  son-in-law,  it  will  be  ours  to- 
gether, and  when  I  am  no  longer  here,  too." 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  my  uncle, 
"are  you  quite  certain  that  Mademoiselle  Arabella 
has  no  objections  at  all  to  marrying  me?" 

"Why  should  she?  You  don't  do  justice  to  your- 
self, Benjamin.  Aren't  you  as  handsome  as  any 
young  fellow?  Aren't  you  amiable  when  you  choose 
to  be  and  as  much  as  you  choose  to  be?  And  aren't 
you  a  man  of  intelligence,  besides?" 

"There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  M.  Minxit, 
but  women  are  capricious,  and  I  have  heard  that 
Mademoiselle  Arabella  has  an  inclination  for  a  gen- 
tleman of  this  neighbourhood,  a  certain  Monsieur 
de  Pont-Casse." 

"A  country  squire,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "a  sort  of 
musketeer  who  has  squandered  the  fine  estate  his 
father  left  him  on  fine  horses  and  embroidered  coats. 
He  did  ask  me  for  Arabella's  hand,  but  I  rejected 
his  proposal  most  decidedly.  In  less  than  two  years 
he  would  have  devoured  my  fortune.  You  can  see 


88  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

I  could  not  give  my  daughter  to  such  a  creature. 
Besides,  he  is  a  furious  duellist.  However,  that  does 
not  matter,  since  he  would  have  rid  Arabella  of  his 
noble  person  one  of  these  days." 

"You  are  right,  M.  Minxit.  But  if  Arabella  loves 
this  creature?" 

"Nonsense,  Benjamin!  Arabella  has  too  much  of 
my  blood  in  her  veins  to  be  smitten  with  a  viscount. 
What  I  need  is  a  child  of  the  people,  a  man  like 
you,  Benjamin,  with  whom  I  can  laugh,  drink,  and 
philosophise,  a  shrewd  physician  who  will  exploit 
my  clients  along  with  me  and  whose  science  will 
supply  what  the  divination  of  urines  may  fail  to 
reveal." 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  warn  you,  Mon- 
sieur Minxit,  I  will  not  examine  urines." 

"Why  not?  Come,  Benjamin,  that  emperor  was 
a  very  wise  man  who  said  to  his  son :  'Do  these 
gold  pieces  smell  of  urine?'  If  you  knew  how 
much  presence  of  mind,  resourcefulness,  keenness, 
and  even  logic  are  required  for  diagnosis,  by  urines, 
you  would  .not  want  to  do  anything  else  your  whole 
life  long.  Perhaps  you  will  be  called  a  charlatan, 
but  what  is  a  charlatan?  A  man  who  has  more 
wit  than  the  multitude.  And  I  ask  you,  is  it  from 
lack  of  desire  or  lack  of  wit  that  most  doctors  do 
not  deceive  their  patients  this  way?  Look,  here 
comes  my  piper,  probably  to  announce  the  arrival 
of  some  urine  vial.  I  can  give  you  a  sample  of  my 
art  on  the  spot." 


MONSIEUR    MINXIT  89 

"Well,  piper,"  said  M.  Minxit  to  the  musician, 
"what's  new?" 

"A  peasant  has  come  to  consult  you,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"Has  Arabella  made  him  talk  to  her  yet?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Minxit.  He  has  his  wife's 
urine.  She  fell  downstairs  about  four  or  five  steps, 
Mademoiselle  Arabella  doesn't  remember  exactly 
how  many." 

"The  devil!"  said  M.  Minxit.  "Very  stupid  in 
Arabella.  All  the  same,  I  will  remedy  that.  Ben- 
jamin, go  wait  for  me  in  the  kitchen  where  the 
peasant  is.  You  will  see  what  a  doctor  who  studies 


urine  is." 


M.  Minxit  entered  his  house  through  the  little 
garden  door,  and  five  minutes  later  came  into  the 
kitchen  looking  utterly  exhausted.  He  carried  a 
riding-whip  and  wore  a  cloak  splashed  with  mud  up 
to  the  collar. 

"Whew!"  he  said,  falling  into  a  chair.  "What 
abominable  roads!  I  am  worn  out.  I  have  trav- 
elled more  than  fifteen  leagues  this  morning.  Take 
my  boots  off  immediately  and  warm  my  bed." 

"Monsieur  Minxit,  I  beg  of  you !"  said  the  peas- 
ant, presenting  his  vial. 

"To  the  devil  with  your  vial,"  said  M.  Minxit. 
"You  see  I  can't  do  another  thing.  Just  like  you  all. 
You  always  come  to  consult  me  just  when  I  come 
back  from  a  long  way  in  the  country." 

"Father,"  said  Arabella,  "the  man  too  is  tired. 


90  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Do    not    force    him    to    come    again    to-morrow." 

"Well,  then,  let  me  see  the  vial,"  said  M.  Minxit, 
with  an  air  of  annoyance.  He  went  to  the  window 
and  added,  "Your  wife's  urine,  isn't  it?" 

'LYes,  Monsieur  Minxit."  said  the  peasant. 

"She  has  had  a  fall,"  added  the  doctor,  examin- 
ing the  vial  again. 

"You  guessed  exactly." 

"On  a  flight  of  steps,  was  it  not?" 

"Why,  you  are  a  sorcerer,  Monsieur  Minxit." 

"And  she  rolled  down  four  steps." 

"This  time  you  are  wrong,  Monsieur  Minxit.  It 
was  down  five  steps." 

"Nonsense,  impossible.  Go  count  your  flight  of 
steps  over  again.  You  will  see  there  are  only  fo.ur 
in  all." 

"I  assure'  you,  Monsieur,  there  are  five,  and  she 
didn't  miss  a  single  one." 

"Astonishing,"  said  M.  Minxit,  examining  the 
vial  again.  "There  certainly  are  only  four  steps 
here.  By  the  way,  did  you  bring  me  all  the  urine 
that  your  wife  gave  you?" 

"I  threw  a  little  on  the  ground,  because  the  vial 
was  too  full." 

"No  wonder  I  didn't  get  the  right  number.  That 
is  the  cause  of  the  deficit.  It  was  the  fifth  step  you 
poured  out,  you  stupid  fellow !  So  we  will  treat  your 
wife  as  having  rolled  down  a  flight  of  five  steps." 

And  he  gave  the  peasant  five  or  six  little  packages 
and  as  many  vials,  all  labelled  in  Latin. 


MONSIEUR   MINXIT  91 

"I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  given  a 
bleeding,"  said  my  uncle. 

"If  it  had  been  a  fall  from  a  horse,  a  fall  from  a 
tree  or  a  fall  in  the  road,  yes.  But  a  fall  on 
a  flight  of  steps  should  always  be  treated  this 
way." 

A  little  girl  came  in  after  the  peasant. 

"Well,  how  is  your  mother?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"Much  better,  Monsieur  Minxit.  But  she  cannot 
get  her  strength  back,  and  I  came  to  ask  you  what 
she  should  do." 

"You  ask  me  what  she  should  do,  and  I  wager 
you  haven't  a  sou  with  which  to  buy  medicine." 

"Oh,  no,  dear  Monsieur  Minxit.  My  father  has 
been  out  of  work  a  whole  week." 

"Then  why  the  devil  does  your  mother  take  it 
into  her  head  to  be  sick?" 

"Don't  worry,  Monsieur  Minxit.  As  soon  as 
father  gets  work,  you  will  be  paid  for  your  visits. 
He  told  me  to  tell  you  so." 

"Nonsense  again !  Is  your  father  crazy  to  expect 
to  pay  me  for  my  visits  when  he  has  no  bread  in  his 
house?  For  what  does  your  imbecile  of  a  father 
take  me?  Take  your  donkey  this  evening  and  get 
a  sack  of  wheat  at  my  mill.  And  take  a  basket  of 
old  wine  and  a  quarter  of  mutton  along  with  you 
from  here.  That  is  what  your  mother  needs.  If 
her  strength  doesn't  come  back  in  two  or  three  days, 
let  me  know.  Now  go,  my  child." 

"Well,"  said  M.  Minxit  to  Benjamin,  "what  do 


92  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

you  think  of  the  practice  of  medicine  by  examining 
urines?" 

"You  are  a  fine,  splendid  man,  Monsieur  Minxit. 
That  is  your  excuse.  But,  the  devil !  You  will  never 
get  me  to  treat  a  patient  who  has  fallen  down  stairs 
any  other  way  than  by  bleeding." 

"Then  you  are  only  a  raw  recruit  in  medicine. 
Don't  you  know  peasants  must  have  drugs?  Other- 
wise they  think  you  are  neglecting  them.  Well, 
then,  you  shall  not  diagnose  by  urines.  But  it's  a 
pity.  You'd  have  been  a  famous  hand  at  it." 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONVERSATION  AT  M.  MINXIT'S  DINNER 

THE  dinner-hour  arrived.  Although  M.  Minxit 
had  invited  but  a  few  persons  beside  those  known 
to  us,  the  priest,  the  notary,  and  one  of  his  colleagues 
in  the  neighbourhood,  the  table  was  loaded  down 
with  a  profusion  of  ducks  and  chickens,  some  lying 
in  stately  integrity  in  the  midst  of  their  sauce,  others 
symmetrically  spreading  their  disjointed  members  on 
the  oval  of  their  platters.  The  wine  was  from  a 
certain  hillside  of  Trucy,  whose  vines,  in  spite  of 
the  levelling-down  that  has  taken  place  in  our  vine- 
yards as  in  our  society,  have  maintained  their  aris- 
tocracy, and  still  enjoy  a  deserved  reputation. 

"Why,"  said  my  uncle  to  M.  Minxit  at  sight  of 
this  Homeric  abundance,  "you  have  a  whole  poultry- 
yard  here,  enough  to  satisfy  a  company  of  dragoons 
after  manoeuvres.  Or  perhaps  you  are  expecting 
our  friend  Arthus?" 

"In  that  case  I  would  have  spitted  one  fowl 
more,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  laughing.  "But  if  we 
ourselves  can't  manage  all  this,  it  will  be  easy  to  find 
others  to  finish  our  task.  How  about  my  officers, 
that  is,  my  musicians,  and  the  clients  who  will  come 

93 


94  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

to-morrow  with  their  vials?  Don't  I  have  to  think 
of  them?  It  is  a  principle  of  mine  that  he  who  has 
dinner  prepared  only  for  himself  is  not  fit  to 
dine." 

"Quite  right,"  replied  my  uncle;  and  after  this 
philosophical  reflection,  he  began  to  attack  M. 
Minxit's  chickens  as  if  he  had  a  personal  spite  against 
them. 

The  guests  were  suited  to  each  other.  For  that 
matter,  my  uncle  was  suited  to  everybody,  and 
everybody  was  suited  to  him.  They  frankly  and 
very  noisily  enjoyed  M.  Minxit's  bounteous  hospi- 
tality. 

"Piper,"  said  M.  Minxit  to  one  of  the  waiters, 
"bring  in  the  Burgundy,  and  tell  the  musicians  to 
come  in  with  arms  and  baggage,  the  drunken  ones 
not  excepted."  The  musicians  entered  at  once  and 
ranged  themselves  in  a  ring  around  the  room.  M. 
Minxit  uncorked  a  few  bottles  of  Burgundy,  then 
lifted  his  full  glass  solemnly,  and  said: 

"Gentlemen,  to  the  health  of  M.  Benjamin 
Rathery,  the  first  doctor  in  the  bailiwick.  I  pre- 
sent him  to  you  as  my  son-in-law,  and  pray  you  to 
love  him  as  you  love  me.  Let  the  music  play." 

An  infernal  din  of  bass  drum,  triangle,  cymbals, 
and  clarinet  broke  out  in  the  dining-room,  so  that 
my  uncle  was  obliged  to  ask  mercy  on  behalf  of  the 
guests.  Mademoiselle  Minxit  made  a  wry  face  over 
the  announcement,  somewhat  too  definite  and  pre- 
mature. Benjamin,  who  had  something  else  to  do 


CONVERSATION  AT  M.   MINXIT'S     95 

than  observe  what  was  going  on  around  him,  did 
not  notice  it.  But  the  sign  of  repugnance  did  not 
escape  my  grandmother.  Her  pride  was  deeply 
wounded.  If  Benjamin  was  not  the  handsomest 
fellow  in  the  country  to  everybody,  he  was  to  his 
sister  at  least.  After  thanking  M.  Minxit  for  the 
honour  he  did  her  brother,  she  added,  biting  each 
syllable  as  if  she  had  poor  Arabella  between  her 
teeth,  that  the  principal,  the  only  reason  that  had 
moved  Benjamin  to  solicit  M.  Minxit's  alliance  was 
the  high  esteem  in  which  M.  Minxit  was  held  in  all 
the  country  round. 

Benjamin,  feeling  that  his  sister  had  been  tactless, 
hastened  to  add,  "And  also  the  graces  and  charms 
with  which  Mademoiselle  Arabella  is  so  abundantly 
provided,  and  which  promise  days  spun  of  gold  and 
silk  to  the  happy  mortal  who  shall  be  her  husband." 
Then,  as  if  to  still  the  pangs  of  conscience  that  this 
sorry  compliment  caused  him — the  only  one  he  had 
yet  bestowed  on  Mademoiselle  Minxit  and  which  his 
sister  had  obliged  him  to — he  set  furiously  upon  a 
chicken's  wing  and  emptied  a  huge  glass  of  Bur- 
gundy at  one  draught. 

There  were  three  doctors  present.  They  were 
bound  to  <^1k  medicine,  and  they  did. 

"You  just  now  said,  M.  Minxit,"  said  Fata,  "that 
your  son-in-law  was  the  first  doctor  in  the  bailiwick. 
I  do  not  protest  in  my  own  behalf,  although  I  have 
made  certain  cures.  But  what  do  you  think  of 
Doctor  Arnout  of  Clamecy?" 


96  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Ask  Benjamin,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "He  knows 
him  better  than  I  do." 

"Oh,  M.  Minxit,"  answered  my  uncle,  "a  rival!" 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  You  don't 
have  to  run  your  rivals  down,  do  you?  Tell  us 
what  you  think  of  him,  just  to  oblige  Fata." 

"Since  you  insist,  I  think  Doctor  Arnout  wears 
a  superb  wig." 

"Why  isn't  a  doctor  who  wears  a  wig  as  good 
as  a  doctor  who  wears  a  queue?"  asked  Fata. 

"A  delicate  question,  Monsieur  Fata,  especially 
since  you  yourself  wear  a  wig.  But  I  will  try  to 
explain  myself  without  wounding  anybody's  pride. 
Here  is  a  doctor  who  has  his  head  stuffed  full  of 
knowledge.  He  has  studied  all  the  old  books  ever 
written  about  medicine.  He  knows  to  a  tee  the 
Greek  words  from  which  the  five  or  six  hundred 
diseases  that  afflict  poor  humanity  are  derived. 
Well,  if  his  intelligence  is  limited,  I  should  not  like 
to  trust  him  to  cure  my  little  finger.  I  would  prefer 
an  intelligent  mountebank.  His  science  is  a  lantern 
without  a  light.  It  has  been  said  that  whatever  a 
man  is  worth,  his  land  is  worth.  It  would  be  equally 
true  to  say  that  whatever  a  man  is  worth,  his  knowl- 
edge is  worth.  That  is  especially  true  of  medicine, 
which  is  a  science  of  hypotheses.  Causes  must  be 
divined  by  equivocal  and  uncertain  effects.  The 
pulse  that  is  dumb  under  the  finger  of  a  fool  con- 
fides marvellous  secrets  to  the  man  of  brains.  Two 
things  above  all  are  necessary  to  success  in  medi- 


CONVERSATION  AT  M.   MINXIT'S     97 

cine,  and  these  two  things  are  not  to  be  acquired. 
They  are  insight  and  intelligence." 

"You  forget  the  cymbals  and  the  bass  drum," 
said  M.  Minxit,  laughing. 

"Oh,"  said  Benjamin,  "speaking  of  your  bas8 
drum,  I  have  an  excellent  idea.  Does  there  happen 
to  be  a  vacancy  in  your  orchestra?" 

"For  whom?"  said  M.  Minxit. 

"For  an  old  sergeant  of  my  acquaintance  and  a 
poodle." 

"On  what  instrument  can  your  two  proteges  play?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Benjamin.  "Any  you  like, 
probably." 

"At  any  rate  we  can  have  your  old  sergeant  groom 
my  four  horses  until  my  music-master  has  familiar- 
ised him  with  some  instrument.  Or  else  he  can  roll 
my  pills." 

"By  the  way,"  said  my  uncle,  "we  can  use  him  to 
still  better  advantage.  He  has  a  face  as  brown 
as  a  chicken  just  from  the  spit.  You'd  think  he 
did  nothing  his  whole  life  except  cross  and  recross 
the  equator.  You  would  take  him  for  the  Tropic  in 
person.  Besides,  he  is  as  dry  as  an  old  burnt  bone. 
We  will  say  we  extracted  from  his  body  the  grease 
we  make  our  salves  of.  -Our  salves  will  sell  better 
than  bear's  grease.  Or  else  we  will  pass  him  off  for 
a  Nubian  a  hundred  and  forty  years  old,  who  has 
lived  to  this  extraordinary  age  by  using  an  elixir, 
the  secret  of  which  he  has  transmitted  to  us  in  con- 
sideration of  a  life  pension;  and  we  will  sell  the 


98  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

precious  elixir  for  the  mere  bagatelle  of  fifteen  sous 
a  bottle.  No  one  will  afford  to  be  without  it." 

"Heavens,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "I  see  you  under- 
stand the  practice  of  medicine  on  the  scale  of  grand 
orchestra.  Send  me  your  man  as  soon  as  you  like. 
I  will  take  him  into  my  service,  whether  as  a  Nubian 
or  as  a  dried  bone." 

At  this  moment  a  domestic  entered  the  dining- 
room  in  a  great  fright,  and  told  my  uncle  that  about 
twenty  women  were  tugging  at  his  donkey's  tail,  and, 
when  he  had  tried  to  disperse  them  with  a  whip, 
they  had  come  very  near  tearing  him  to  pieces  with 
their  sharp  finger-nails. 

"I  know  what  it  is,"  said  my  uncle,  and  burst  out 
laughing.  "They  are  pulling  hairs  from  the  Holy 
Virgin's  ass  to  keep  as  relics." 

M.  Minxit  asked  for  an  explanation. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  when  my  uncle  had  finished 
his  story,  "we  are  impious  men  if  we  do  not  wor- 
ship Benjamin.  Pastor,  you  must  make  a  saint 
of  him." 

"I  protest,"  said  Benjamin.  "I  don't  want  to 
go  to  Heaven.  I  shall  certainly  not  meet  any  of 
you  there." 

"Yes,  laugh,  gentlemen."  said  my  grandmother, 
after  having  laughed  herself.  "I  don't  feel  like 
laughing.  Benjamin's  practical  jokes  always  end 
that  way.  M.  Durand  will  make  us  pay  for  his 
ass,  unless  we  return  it  in  the  same  condition  he  gave 
it  to  us  in." 


CONVERSATION  AT  M,   MINXITS    99 

"At  any  rate,"  said  my  uncle,  "he  cannot  make 
us  pay  for  more  than  the  tail.  Would  a  man  who 
cuts  off  my  queue — and  my  queue,  without  flattering 
it,  is  surely  worth  as  much  as  the  tail  of  M.  Durand's 
donkey — be  as  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  justice  as  if  he 
had  killed  me?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "and  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  should  not  esteem  you  one  obole  the  less 
for  it." 

Meanwhile  the  yard  was  filling  with  women  who 
maintained  a  respectful  attitude,  as  though  they  were 
near  a  chapel  in  which  divine  service  is  being  held 
and  which  is  too  small  to  hold  all  the  worshippers. 
Many  of  them  were  kneeling. 

"You  must  rid  us  of  these  people,"  said  M. 
Minxit  to  Benjamin. 

"Nothing  easier,"  answered  Benjamin.  He  went 
to  the  window  and  told  the  good  people  that  they 
would  have  plenty  of  time  to  see  the  Holy  Virgin. 
She  expected  to  remain  two  days  at  M.  Minxit's,  and 
the  next  Sunday  she  would  not  fail  to  attend  high 
mass.  At  this  assurance  the  people  withdrew 
satisfied. 

"Such  parishioners,"  said  the  cure,  "do  me  little 
honour.  I  must  reprove  them  in  my  sermon  next 
Sunday.  How  can  any  one  be  so  simple-minded  as  to 
take  a  donkey's  dirty  tail  for  a  sacred  object?" 

"But,  pastor,"  responded  Benjamin,  "you  who  are 
so  philosophical  at  table,  haven't  you  in  your 
church  under  glass  two  or  three  bones  as  white  as 


ioo  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

paper,  which  you  call  the  relics  of  Saint  Maurice?" 

"Those  are  exhausted  relics,"  said  M.  Minxit. 
"It  is  more  than  fifty  years  since  they  worked  mir- 
acles. My  friend  the  priest  would  do  well  to  get 
rid  of  them  and  sell  them  to  be  made  into  bone- 
black.  I  would  take  them  myself  to  make  album 
graecum,  if  he  would  let  me  have  them  at  a  reason- 
able price." 

"What  is  album  graecum?"  asked  my  grand- 
mother, innocently. 

"Madame,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  with  a  bow, 
"it  is  Greek  white.  I  regret  I  cannot  tell  you  more 
about  it." 

"For  my  part,"  said  the  notary,  a  little  old  man 
in  a  white  wig,  with  vivacious  eyes  full  of  mischief, 
"I  don't  find  fault  with  the  pastor  for  the  place  of 
honour  he  has  given  the  shin-bones  of  Saint  Maurice 
in  his  church.  Saint  Maurice  undoubtedly  had  shin- 
bones  when  he  was  alive.  Why  should  they  not  be 
there  as  well  as  anywhere?  I  am  surprised  that  the 
vestry  hasn't  our  patron  saint's  riding-boots,  too. 
But  I  could  wish  that  the  cure  in  his  turn  might 
be  more  tolerant  and  might  not  rebuke  his  parish- 
ioners for  their  faith  in  the  Wandering  Jew.  Not 
to  believe  enough  is  as  sure  a  sign  of  ignorance  as 
to  believe  too  much." 

"What,"  replied  the  cure  quickly,  "you,  Mon- 
sieur notary,  you  believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew?" 

"Why  should  I  not  believe  in  him  just  as  well  as 
in  Saint  Maurice?" 


CONVERSATION  AT  M.   MINXIT'S     101 

"And  you,  Doctor,"  said  he,  addressing  Fata, 
"do  you  believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew?" 

"H'm,  h'm !"  said  the  latter,  taking  a  huge  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"And  you,  honourable  Monsieur  Minxit?" 

"I  agree  with  my  colleague,"  interrupted  M. 
Minxit,  "except  that  I'll  take  a  glass  of  wine  instead 
of  a  pinch  of  snuff." 

"But  surely  you,  Monsieur  -Rathery,  you  who 
pass  for  a  philosopher,  I  do  hope  you  do  not  honour 
the  Wandering  Jew  with  belief  in  his  eternal  pere- 
grinations." 

"Why  not?"  said  my  uncle.  "You  believe  in 
Jesus  Christ." 

"Oh,  that's  different,"  answered  the  cure.  "I  be- 
lieve in  Jesus  Christ  because  neither  his  existence 
nor  his  divinity  can  be  called  in  question,  because 
the  evangelists  who  wrote  his  history  are  men 
worthy  of  credence.  They  could  not  have  been 
mistaken.  They  had  no  motive  for  deceiving  their 
neighbours,  and  even  if  they  had  wanted  to,  they 
could  not  have  succeeded  in  accomplishing  the 
fraud. 

"If  the  facts  recorded  by  them  were  invented,  if 
the  Gospel,  like  Telemaque,  were  a  sort  of  philo- 
sophical and  religious  novel,  then,  on  the  appear- 
ance of  that  fatal  book  which  was  to  spread  trouble 
and  division  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  earth, 
which  was  to  separate  husband  from  wife,  children 
from  their  fathers,  which  made  poverty  honourable, 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

which  made  the  slave  the  equal  of  the  master,  which 
upset  all  received  ideas,  which  honoured  everything 
that  up  to  that  time  had  been  despised,  and  threw 
everything  that  had  been  honoured  into  the  fire  of 
hell  as  rubbish,  which  overturned  the  old  religion 
of  the  Pagans,  and  on  its  ruins  established  the  gibbet 
of  a  poor  carpenter's  son  in  the  place  of  altars " 

"Monsieur  Cure,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "your  period 
is  too  long.  You  must  cut  it  with  a  glass  of  wine." 

The  cure,  having  drunk  a  glass  of  wine,  con- 
tinued: 

"On  the  appearance  of  that  book,  I  say,  the 
Pagans  would  have  uttered  an  immense  cry  of  pro- 
test, and  the  Jews,  whom  it  accused  of  the  greatest 
crime  that  a  people  can  commit,  a  deicide,  would  have 
pursued  it  with  their  eternal  denunciations." 

"But  the  Wandering  Jew,"  said  my  uncle,  "has  the 
support  of  an  authority  no  less  powerful  than  the 
Gospel — the  rhymed  chronicle  of  the  burghers  of 
Brussels  in  Brabant,  who  met  him  at  the  gates  of 
the  city  and  regaled  him  with  a  pot  of  fresh  beer. 

"The  apostles,  I  admit,  are  men  worthy  of  faith. 
But,  inspiration  aside,  what  were  they  really? 
Tramps,  men  without  hearth  or  home,  who  paid  no 
taxes,  and  whom  the  authorities  to-day  would  prose- 
cute as  vagabonds.  The  burghers  of  Brussels,  on  the 
contrary,  were  respectable  men,  householders.  Some, 
I  am  sure,  were  syndics  or  church-wardens.  If  the 
apostles  and  the  Brussels  burghers  could  have  a  dis- 
cussion before  the  bailiff,  I  am  sure  the  magistrate 


CONVERSATION  AT  M.   MINXIT'S     103 

would  defer  to  the  oath  of  the  Brussels  burghers. 

"The  Brussels  burghers  could  not  have  been  mis- 
taken. A  burgher  is  not  a  puppet,  a  boon  companion, 
or  a  man  of  gingerbread.  And  it  is  no  harder  to  tell 
an  old  man  of  over  seventeen  hundred  years  of  age 
from  an  old  man  of  to-day  than  it  is  to  tell  an  ordi- 
nary old  man  from  a  child  of  five. 

"The  Brussels  burghers  had  no  motives  for  deceiv- 
ing their  fellows.  It  made  no  difference  to  them 
whether  or  not  there  was  a  man  who  travels  on  for- 
ever. And  what  glory  could  have  accrued  to  them 
for  having  sat  at  table  in  an  ale-house  and  drunk 
freshly  tapped  beer  with  the  superlative  of  vaga- 
bonds, with  a  sort  of  damned  creature,  a  hundred 
-times  more  despicable  than  a  galley-slave,  to  whom 
I  myself  would  not  like  to  take  off  my  hat?  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  Brussels  burghers  acted  rather 
against  than  for  their  interest  in  publishing  their 
chronicle.  The  ballad  is  not  calculated  to  inspire  a 
high  opinion  of  their  poetic  ability.  The  tailor 
Millot-Rataut,  whose  Grand  Noel  I  have  many  a 
time  found  wrapped  around  a  bit  of  Brie  cheese,  is 
a  Virgil  in  comparison  with  them. 

"The  Brussels  burghers  could  not  have  deceived 
their  people,  even  had  they  wished  to.  Had  the  facts 
celebrated  in  their  chronicle  been  invented,  the  in- 
habitants of  Brussels  would  have  protested  on  the 
appearance  of  the  document.  The  police  would  have 
consulted  their  registers  to  see  if  a  certain  Isaac 
Laquedem  had  passed  through  Brussels  on  such  and 


104  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

such  a  day,  and  they  would  have  protested.  The 
cobblers,  whose  respectable  guild  was  forever  dis- 
honoured by  the  brutal  conduct  of  the  Wandering 
Jew,  who  was  one  of  the  craft,  would  not  have 
failed  to  protest;  in  short,  there  would  have  been  a 
concerted  storm  of  protests  sufficient  to  make  the 
towers  of  the  capital  of  Brabant  topple  and  fall. 

"Besides,  in  the  matter  of  credibility,  the  ballad 
of  the  Wandering  Jew  has  notable  advantages  over 
the  Gospels.  It  did  not  fall  from  heaven  like  a 
meteoric  stone.  It  has  a  precise  date.  The  first 
copy  was  deposited  in  the  royal  library,  duly  in- 
scribed with  the  printer's  name  and  street  number. 
The  Gospels,  on  the  other  hand,  are  not  dated.  The 
ballad  of  Brussels  is  illustrated  by  a  portrait  of  the 
Wandering  Jew,  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  Polish 
coat,  riding  boots,  and  with  a  tremendously  long 
cane.  But  no  medallion  has  come  down  to  us  bear- 
ing the  picture  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  chronicle  of 
the  Wandering  Jew  was  written  in  an  enlightened, 
investigating  century,  more  disposed  to  cut  down  its 
beliefs  than  to  add  to  them,  while  the  Gospels  ap- 
peared suddenly  like  a  torch  lighted  by  no  one  knows 
whom  in  the  darkness  of  a  century  given  over  to 
gross  superstitions,  and  among  a  people  plunged  in 
the  deepest  ignorance,  whose  history  is  one  long 
series  of  superstitions  and  barbarisms." 

"Permit  me,  Monsieur  Benjamin,"  said  the  notary. 
"You  said  that  the  Brussels  burghers  could  not  have 
been  mistaken  as  to  the  identity  of  the  Wandering 


CONVERSATION   AT  M.   MINXIT'S     105 

Jew.  Yet  this  morning  the  inhabitants  of  Moulot 
took  you  for  the  Wandering  Jew.  In  the  capacity 
of  Wandering  Jew  you  yourself  worked  an  authentic 
miracle  in  the  presence  of  the  entire  people  of 
Moulot.  So  your  demonstration  fails  in  one  point, 
and  your  rules  regarding  historical  certainty  are  not 
infallible." 

"The  objection  is  a  strong  one,"  said  Benjamin, 
scratching  his  head.  "I  admit  I  can't  answer  it. 
But  it  applies  to  Monsieur  Cure's  Jesus  Christ  as 
well  as  to  my  Wandering  Jew." 

"But  I  hope  you  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  Ben- 
jamin?" interrupted  my  grandmother,  who  always 
wanted  to  come  down  to  facts. 

"Undoubtedly,  my  dear  sister,  I  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ.  I  believe  in  him  the  more  firmly  because 
without  believing  in  the  divinity  of  Jesus  Christ  one 
cannot  believe  in  the  existence  of  God,  since  the  only 
proofs  of  the  existence  of  God  are  the  miracles  of 
Jesus  Christ.  But  then  that  does  not  prevent  me 
from  believing  in  the  Wandering  Jew,  or,  rather, 
shall  I  tell  you  what  the  Wandering  Jew  means 
to  me? 

"The  Wandering  Jew  is  the  picture  of  the  Jewish 
people  sketched  by  some  unknown  poet  of  the  people 
on  the  walls  of  a  cottage.  The  myth  is  so  striking 
that  you'd  have  to  be  blind  not  to  see  it. 

"The  Wandering;  Jew  has  no  hearth  nor  home 
nor  legal  and  political  domicile.  The  Jewish  people 
have  no  country. 


io6  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"The  Wandering  Jew  is  obliged  to  travel  on  with- 
out rest,  without  stopping,  without  taking  breath, 
which  must  be  very  fatiguing  to  him  in  his  Hessian 
boots.  He  has  already  been  around  the  world  seven 
times.  The  Jewish  people  are  not  firmly  estab- 
lished anywhere.  Everywhere  they  live  in  tents. 
They  go  and  come  incessantly  like  the  waves  of  the 
ocean,  and  they  too,  have  already  been  around  the 
world  many  times,  like  foam  floating  on  the  surface 
of  the  nations,  like  a  straw  borne  by  the  current  of 
civilisation. 

"The  Wandering  Jew  always  has  five  sous  in  his 
pocket.  The  Jewish  people,  continually  ruined  by 
the  exactions  of  the  feudal  lords  and  by  the  royal 
confiscations,  always  rise  to  the  top  of  prosperity 
again,  like  a  cork.  Their  wealth  grew  of  itself. 

"The  Wandering  Jew  can  spend  only  five  sous  at 
a  time.  The  Jewish  people,  obliged  to  conceal  their 
wealth,  have  become  sparing  and  close-fisted.  They 
spend  little. 

"The  suffering  of  the  Wandering  Jew  will  last 
forever.  The  Jewish  people  can  no  more  reunite 
into  a  national  body  than  the  ashes  of  an  oak  struck 
by  lightning  can  make  a  tree  again.  They  are  scat- 
tered over  the  earth  until  the  end  of  the  centuries. 

"To  speak  seriously,  it  is  doubtless  a  superstition 
to  believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew.  But  I  say  to  you 
as  is  said  in  the  Gospel,  let  him  who  is  free  from 
all  superstition  cast  the  first  sarcasm  at  the  inhab- 
itants of  Moulot.  The  fact  is,  we  are  all  supersti- 


CONVERSATION  AT  M.   MINXIT'S     107 

tious,  some  more,  others  less,  and  often  the  man  with 
a  wen  on  his  ear  as  big  as  a  potato  makes  sport  of 
the  man  with  a  wart  on  his  chin. 

"There  are  not  two  Christians  having  the  same  be- 
liefs who  admit  and  reject  the  same  things.  One 
fasts  on  Friday  and  does  not  attend  divine  service. 
Another  attends  divine  service  and  eats  meat  on 
Friday.  Some  lady  will  mock  at  Friday  and  Sunday 
alike,  yet  would  consider  herself  damned  if  she 
were  not  married  in  church. 

"Let  religion  be  a  beast  with  seven  horns.  He 
who  believes  in  only  six  horns  scoffs  at  him  who 
believes  in  seven,  and  he  who  admits  but  five  horns 
scoffs  at  him  who  admits  six.  Then  comes  the  deist 
who  scoffs  at  all  the  others,  and  finally  there  is  the 
atheist.  And  yet  the  atheist  believes  in  Cagliostro 
and  consults  the  fortune-tellers.  In  short,  there  is 
only  one  man  who  is  not  superstitious,  the  man  who 
believes  in  nothing  but  what  is  demonstrated  to 
him." 

It  was  past  nightfall  when  my  grandmother  an- 
nounced her  wish  to  start. 

"I  will  let  Benjamin  go  on  only  one  condition," 
said  M.  Minxit,  "that  he  will  promise  to  take  part 
in  a  grand  hunting  party  on  Sunday  which  I  will  give 
in  his  honour.  He  must  familiarise  himself  with  his 
woods  and  the  hares." 

"But  I  do  not  know  the  mere  elements  of  hunt- 
ing," said  my  uncle.  "I  can  easily  tell  a  hare  stew 
from  a  rabbit  stew,  but  may  Millot-Rataut  sing  me 


io8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

his  Grand  Noel  if  I  am  capable  of  telling  a  hare  on 
the  run  from  a  rabbit  on  the  run." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you,  my  friend.  But  that 
is  one  reason  more  why  you  should  come.  One 
should  know  a  little  of  everything." 

"You  will  see  me  do  something  bad.  I  shall  kill 
one  of  your  musicians." 

"Oh,  be  careful  not  to  do  that,  at  least.  I  shall 
have  to  pay  his  bereaved  family  more  than  he  is 
worth.  But  to  avoid  an  accident  you  shall  hunt  with 
your  sword." 

"Very  well,  I  promise,"  said  my  uncle. 

Thereupon  he  and  his  dear  sister  took  leave  of 
M.  Minxit. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Benjamin  to  my  grand- 
mother when  they  were  on  their  way,  "I  would 
rather  marry  M.  Minxit  than  his  daughter." 

"Don't  wish  for  anything  you  can  not  get,  but 
do  wish  for  everything  you  can  get,"  answered  my 
grandmother,  dryly. 

"But- 

"But — look  out  for  the  donkey,  and  don't  prick 
him  with  your  sword  the  way  you  did  this  morning. 
That  is  all  I  ask  of  you." 

"You  are  cross  with  me,  sister.  I  should  like  to 
know  why." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  Because  you  drank  too 
much,  discussed  too  much,  and  did  not  say  a  word 
to  Mademoiselle  Arabella.  Now,  let  me  alone." 


.CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  KISSED  A  MARQUIS 

THE  following  Saturday  my  uncle  spent  the  night 
at  Corvol. 

They  started  the  next  morning  at  sunrise.  M. 
Minxit  was  accompanied  by  all  his  people  and  sev- 
eral friends,  among  whom  was  his  colleague  Fata. 
It  was  one  of  those  glorious  days  that  gloomy  winter 
occasionally  bestows  upon  the  earth,  like  a  jailer 
bestowing  a  smile.  February  seemed  to  have  bor- 
rowed its  sun  from  April.  The  sky  was  clear,  and 
the  south  wind  filled  the  air  with  a  soft  warmth. 
The  river  was  steaming  in  the  distance  among  the 
willows.  The  morning  hoar  frost  hung  in  little  drops 
from  the  branches  of  the  bushes.  For  the  first  time 
in  the  year  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  meadows, 
and  the  brooks  running  down  the  mountain  of  Flez, 
awakened  by  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  babbled  at  the 
foot  of  the  hedges. 

''Monsieur  Fata,"  said  my  uncle,  "this  is  a  fine 
day.  Shall  we  take  a  walk  under  the  wet  branches 
of  the  woods?" 

"I  don't  care  to,  my  colleague,"  said  M.  Fata. 
"If  you  will  come  to  my  house,  I  will  show  you  a 

109 


no  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

four-headed  child  which  I  keep  sealed  in  a  bottle. 
M.  Minxit  offers  me  three  hundred  francs  for  it." 

"You  would  do  well  to  let  him  have  it,"  said  my 
uncle,  "and  put  currant  wine  in  the  bottle  instead." 
Nevertheless,  having  a  good  pair  of  legs,  and  it 
being  only  two  short  leagues  from  there  to  Varzy, 
he  decided  to  go  with  his  colleague.  So  Fata  and 
he  left  the  hunting  party  and  plunged  into  a  side- 
path  that  disappeared  in  the  meadow.  Soon  they 
found  themselves  opposite  Saint-Pierre  du  Mont. 
Saint-Pierre  du  Mont  is  a  big  hill  on  the  road  from 
Clamecy  to  Varzy.  At  its  base  it  is  covered  with 
meadows  streaming  with  water-courses,  but  at  its 
summit  it  is  shorn  and  bare.  It  is  like  a  huge  clump 
of  earth  raised  on  the  plain  by  a  gigantic  mole.  At 
that  time  there  stood  on  its  bare  an^  scurvy  cranium 
the  remains  of  a  feudal  castle.  To-day  it  is  re- 
placed by  an  elegant  country-house,  in  which  a  cattle- 
raiser  lives.  Thus  it  is  that  the  works  of  man,  like 
those  of  nature,  imperceptibly  decompose  and  form 
again. 

The  walls  of  the  castle  were  dilapidated  and  its 
battlements  toothless  in  many  spots.  The  towers 
seemed  as  though  broken  off  in  the  middle  and  re- 
duced to  stumps.  Its  moats,  half  dried  up,  were 
encumbered  with  tall  grass  and  a  forest  of  reeds,  and 
its  drawbridge  had  had  to  be  replaced  by  a  stone 
bridge.  The  sinister  shadow  of  this  old  feudal  ruin 
cast  a  gloom  on  the  entire  neighbourhood.  The 
cottages  had  moved  back  from  it,  some  going  to 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     in 

the  neighbouring  hill  and  forming  the  village  of 
Flez,  others  descending  into  the  valley  and  grouping 
themselves  as  a  hamlet  along  the  road. 

The  lord  of  this  old  establishment  at  that  time 
was  a  certain  Marquis  de  Cambyse.  M.  de  Cambyse 
was  tall,  stout,  heavily  built,  and  had  the  strength  of 
a  giant — a  veritable  old  suit  of  armour  made  of 
flesh.  He  was  of  a  violent,  passionate,  excessively 
irascible  nature,  infatuated  with  his  nobility,  and 
fancying  the  Cambyse  family  was  an  unparalleled 
work  of  creation. 

At  one  time  he  had  been  an  officer  of  musketeers, 
I  know  not  of  what  colour.  But  he  was  ill  at  ease 
at  court,  his  will  there  was  repressed,  his  violence 
could  not  find  free  vent,  and  he  felt  stifled  amid  the 
dust  of  the  landed  aristocrats  which  sparkled  and 
whirled  around  the  throne.  He  had  returned  to  his 
estate,  and  lived  there  like  a  little  monarch.  Though 
time  had  taken  away  the  old  privileges  of  the  no- 
bility one  by  one,  he  had  managed  to  keep  them, 
and  he  exercised  them  to  the  full.  He  was  still  abso- 
lute master,  not  only  of  his  domains,  but  also  of  the 
whole  country  round.  Barring  the  buckler,  he  was 
a  veritable  feudal  lord.  He  beat  the  peasants,  took 
their  wives  from  them  when  they  were  pretty,  in- 
vaded their  lands  with  his  hounds,  sent  his  servants 
to  trample  down  their  crops,  and  subjected  the 
burghers  whom  he  came  across  in  the  vicinity  of  his 
mountain  to  a  thousand  annoyances. 

He  practised  despotism  and  violence  from  caprice, 


ii2  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

for  entertainment,  but  especially  from  pride.  To 
be  the  most  eminent  personage  in  the  vicinity,  he 
thought  he  must  be  the  wickedest.  He  knew  no  bet- 
ter way  of  showing  his  superiority  than  by  oppres- 
sion. To  be  famous  he  made  himself  a  detestable 
villain.  Except  in  size,  he  was  like  the  flea  whose 
only  way  to  make  you  aware  of  its  presence  in  the 
bed-clothes  is  biting  you.  Although  rich,  he  had 
creditors,  and  he  made  it  a  point  of  honour  not  to 
pay  them.  The  terror  of  his  name  was  such  that 
not  a  sheriff's  officer  in  the  country  could  be  found 
willing  to  serve  a  paper  on  him.  A  single  one, 
father  Ballivet,  had  dared  to  serve  a  writ  on  him 
with  his  own  hand,  speaking  to  him  in  person,  but 
he  had  risked  his  life  in  doing  it.  Honour  to  gen- 
erous father  Ballivet,  the  royal  process-server,  who 
served  writs  all  over  the  world  and  two  leagues 
beyond,  as  the  spiteful  wags  said  in  order  to  dim 
the  glory  of  this  great  process-server. 

This  is  how  he  managed  it.  He  wrapped  his  docu- 
ment in  a  half-dozen  envelopes  cunningly  sealed, 
and  presented  it  to  M.  de  Cambyse  as  a  package 
coming  from  the  castle  of  Vilaine.  While  the  Mar- 
quis was  unwrapping  the  document,  he  sneaked  out 
stealthily,  reached  the  main  gate,  and  mounted  his 
horse,  which  he  had  fastened  to  a  tree  some  dis- 
tance from  the  castle.  The  Marquis  was  furious 
when  he  found  out  what  the  package  contained  and 
that  he  had  been  duped  by  a  process-server,  and  he 
ordered  his  domestics  to  go  in  pursuit  of  him.  But 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     113 

father  Ballivet  was  beyond  their  reach,  and  mocked 
at  them  with  a  gesture  of  the  hand  that  I  cannot 
describe  here. 

M.  de  Cambyse  felt  scarcely  greater  scruples 
about  discharging  hii>  gun  at  a  peasant  than  at 'a  fox. 
He  had  already  maimed  two  or  three,  who  were 
known  in  the  neighbourhood  as  M.  de  Cambyse's 
cripples,  and  several  prominent  inhabitants  of 
Clamecy  had  been  the  victims  of  his  mean  practical 
jokes.  Although  he  was  not  yet  very  old,  the  hon- 
ourable lord  had  perpetrated  enough  bloody  tricks 
to  entitle  him  to  two  life-sentences.  But  his  family 
stood  well  at  court,  and  the  protection  of  his  noble 
relatives  secured  him  against  prosecution.  The  fact 
is,  each  one  takes  his  pleasure  where  he  finds  it. 
The  good  King  Louis  XV.,  who  entertained  him- 
self so  merrily  and  pleasantly  at  Versailles  and  gave 
parties  to  the  lords  and  ladies  of  his  court,  did  not 
wish  his  peers  in  the  provinces  to  be  bored  on  their 
estates,  and  he  would  have  been  very  much  vexed 
had  they  had  no  peasants  to  howl  under  their  whips, 
or  had  there  been  no  burghers  for  them  to  insult. 
Louis,  called  the  Well-Beloved,  was  determined  to 
deserve  the  love  of  his  subjects.  It  is  clear,  there- 
fore, that  the  Marquis  de  Cambyse  was  as  inviolable 
as  a  constitutional  king,  and  that  neither  justice  nor 
the  police  could  touch  him. 

Benjamin  was  fond  of  declaiming  against  M.  de 
Cambyse.  He  called  him  the  Gessler  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  had  often  expressed  the  desire  to 


Ii4  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

meet  this  man  face  to  face.  His  wish  was  fulfilled 
only  too  soon,  as  you  will  now  see. 

At  sight  of  the  black,  shadowy  ruins  that  stood 
out  sharply  against  the  azure  of  the  sky,  my  uncle, 
philosopher  that  he  was,  fell  into  meditation. 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  his  colleague,  pulling 
him  by  the  sleeve,  "it  isn't  safe  to  be  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  this  castle,  I  warn  you." 

"What,  Monsieur  Fata,  are  you  too  afraid  of  a 
Marquis?" 

"But,  Monsieur  Rathery,  you  know  I  am  a  doctor 
with  a  wig." 

"That's  the  way  with  all  of  them!"  cried  my 
uncle,  giving  free  rein  to  his  indignation.  "There 
are  three  hundred  citizens  to  one  nobleman,  and 
they  allow  the  nobleman  to  walk  over  their  bellies. 
And  they  flatten  themselves  all  they  can,  too,  lest 
the  noble  personage  stumble!" 

"What  do  you  expect,  M.- Rathery?  Against 
force " 

"But  it  is  you  who  have  the  force,  you  wretch! 
You  are  like  the  ox  who  lets  a  child  lead  him  from 
the  green  pasture  to  the  shambles.  Oh,  the  people 
are  cowards,  cowards !  I  say  it  in  bitter  sorrow, 
as  a  mother  says  that  her  child  has  a  bad  heart. 
The  man  who  sacrifices  himself  for  the  people  is  al- 
ways left  to  the  mercy  of  the  executioner,  and  if  there 
is  no  rope  with  which  to  hang  him,  the  people  under- 
take to  furnish  it.  Two  thousand  years  have  passed 
over  the  ashes  of  the  Gracchi,  and  seventeen  hundred 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     115 

and  fifty  years  over  the  cross  of  Jesus,  and  they  are 
still  the  same  people.  They  sometimes  have  spurts  of 
courage,  and  then  fire  issues  from  their  mouths  and 
nostrils.  But  slavery  is  their  normal  condition. 
They  always  return  to  it,  as  a  tamed  canary  returns 
to  its  cage.  You  see  the  brook  rushing  onward 
swollen  by  a  sudden  storm,  and  you  take  it  for  a 
mighty  river.  The  next  day  you  pass  again  and  you 
find  only  a  mere  thread  of  water  hiding  under  the 
grass  growing  on  the  banks,  with  nothing  left  of  the 
torrential  flood  of  the  day  before  but  a  few  straws 
hanging  from  the  branches  of  the  bushes.  The  peo- 
ple are  strong  when  they  wish  to  be.  But  look  out, 
their  strength  lasts  only  a  moment.  Those  who  rely 
upon  them  build  their  house  upon  the  frozen  surface 
of  a  lake." 

At  that  moment  a  man  dressed  in  a  rich  hunting 
suit  crossed  the  road,  followed  by  barking  dogs 
and  a  long  train  of  attendants.  Fata  turned  pale. 

"M.  de  Cambyse,"  he  said  to  my  uncle,  and  bowed 
profoundly.  But  Benjamin  stood  erect,  without 
doffing  his  hat,  like  a  Spanish  grandee. 

Nothing  was  more  likely  to  offend  the  terrible 
Marquis  than  the  presumption  of  this  common  citi- 
zen who  refused  him  the  ordinary  homage  on  the 
edge  of  his  domains  and  in  front  of  his  castle.  It 
was,  moreover,  a  very  bad  example,  which  might 
become  contagious. 

"Clodhopper,"  said  he  to  my  uncle,  with  his  lordly 
air,  "why  don't  you  salute  me?" 


n6  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"And  you,"  answered  my  uncle,  measuring  him 
from  head  to  foot  with  his  grey  eyes,  "why  didn't 
you  salute  me?" 

"Don't  you  know  I  am  the  Marquis  de  Cambyse, 
lord  of  all  this  domain?" 

"And  you,  don't  you  know  I  am  Benjamin 
Rathery,  doctor  of  medicine,  of  Clamecy?" 

"Really,"  said  the  Marquis,  "so  you  are  a  saw- 
bones? I  congratulate  you.  It  is  a  fine  title  you 
have." 

"It  is  as  good  a  title  as  yours.  To  acquire  it 
I  had  to  pursue  long  and  serious  studies.  But  what 
did  that  de  cost  you  which  you  put  before  your 
name?  The  king  can  make  twenty  marquises  a  day, 
but  I  defy  him,  with  all  his  power,  to  make  one 
doctor.  A  doctor  has  his  usefulness.  You'll  find  it 
out  later,  perhaps.  But  what  is  a  marquis  good  for?" 

The  Marquis  de  Cambyse  had  breakfasted  well 
that  morning.  He  was  in  a  good  humour. 

"A  funny  old  codger,"  he  said  to  his  steward. 
"I  would  rather  have  met  him  than  a  deer. 
And  this  one,"  he  added,  pointing  his  finger  at  Fata, 
"who  is  he?" 

"M.  Fata,  of  Varzy,  Marquis,"  said  the  doctor, 
bowing  reverentially  a  second  time. 

"Fata,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  are  a  poltroon.  I 
suspected  as  much,  but  you  will  have  to  answer  to 
me  for  this  conduct." 

"What,"  said  the  Marquis  to  Fata,  "you  are  ac- 
quainted with  this  man?" 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     117 

"Very  slightly,  Monsieur  Marquis,  I  swear  it.  I 
know  him  only  because  I  have  dined  with  him  at 
M.  Minxit's.  But  the  moment  he  fails  in  the  respect 
he  owes  the  nobility,  I  know  him  no  more." 

"And  I,"  said  my  uncle,  "am  just  beginning  to 
know  him." 

"What,  Monsieur  Fata  of  Varzy,"  continued  the 
Marquis,  "do  you  dine  with  that  scoundrel 
Minxit?" 

"Oh,  quite  by  chance,  Monseigneur,  when  I  hap- 
pened to  pass  through  Corvol  one  day.  I  know 
very  well  that  Minxit  is  a  man  one  ought  not  to 
associate  with.  He  is  a  hare-brained  fellow,  con- 
ceited on  account  of  his  wealth,  and  thinks  himself 
as  good  as  a  nobleman.  Wow !  Wow !  Who  gave 
me  that  kick  from  behind?" 

"I  did,"  said  Benjamin,  "in  behalf  of  M. 
Minxit." 

"Now,"  said  the  Marquis,  "you  have  nothing 
more  to  do  here,  Monsieur  Fata.  Leave  me  alone 
with  your  travelling  companion.  So  then,"  he 
added,  addressing  my  uncle,  "you  persist  in  refus- 
ing to  salute  me?" 

"If  you  salute  me  first,  I  will  salute  you  next," 
said  Benjamin. 

"Is  that  your  last  word?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  carefully  considered  what  you  are 
doing?" 

"Listen,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  will  show  deference 


ii8  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

for  your  title,  and  prove  to  you  how  accommodating 
I  am  in  everything  that  concerns  etiquette." 

With  this  he  took  a  coin  from  his  pocket,  and, 
tossing  it  in  the  air,  said  to  the  Marquis: 

"Heads  or  tails?  Noble  or  doctor,  whomso  for- 
tune designates  shall  be  the  first  to  salute,  and  from 
this  there  shall  be  no  appeal." 

"Insolent  fellow,"  said  the  fat,  chubby-faced 
steward.  "Don't  you  see  that  you  are  lacking  most 
scandalously  in  respect  to  Monseigneur.  If  I  were 
in  his  place,  I  would  have  given  you  a  beating  long 
ago." 

"My  friend,"  answered  Benjamin,  "stick  to  your 
figures.  Your  lord  pays  you  to  cheat  him,  not  to 
give  him  advice." 

Just  then  a  game-keeper  stole  behind  my  uncle, 
and  knocked  his  three-cornered  hat  into  the  mud. 
Benjamin  was  remarkably  strong.  As  he  turned 
round,  the  broad  grin  at  the  success  of  his  trick  was 
still  on  the  game-keeper's  lips.  My  uncle  with  one 
blow  of  his  iron  fist  sent  the  man  sprawling  down- 
ward so  that  he  remained  lying,  half  in  the  ditch,  half 
in  the  hedge  on  the  roadside.  The  man's  comrades 
wanted  to  extricate  him  from  the  amphibious  position 
he  had  gotten  into,  but  M.  de  Cambyse  would  not 
allow  it.  "The  rogue  must  learn,"  said  he,  "that 
the  right  to  insolence  does  not  belong  to  the  common 
people." 

I  really  do  not  understand  why  my  uncle,  gen- 
erally so  philosophical,  did  not  yield  with  good  grace 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     119 

to  necessity.  I  know  very  well  that  it  is  vexing  to  a 
proud  citizen  of  the  people,  who  feels  his  worth,  to 
be  obliged  to  salute  a  Marquis.  But  when  we  are 
under  the  coercion  of  force,  our  free  will  is  gone. 
What  a  man  does  in  such  circumstances  is  not  a 
personal  act  but  the  result  of  external  power.  We 
are  then  merely  a  machine  not  responsible  for  its 
acts.  The  only  one  deserving  of  blame  for  what- 
ever is  shameful  or  guilty  in  our  conduct  is  the  man 
who  does  violence  to  us.  I  have,  therefore,  always 
looked  upon  the  unconquerable  resistance  of  mar- 
tyrs to  their  persecutors  as  obstinacy  scarcely  worthy 
of  being  canonised.  Do  you  want  to  throw  me  into 
boiling  oil,  Antiochus,  if  I  refuse  to  eat  pork?  Well, 
I  must  first  of  all  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
it  is  not  right  to  fry  a  man  as  we  fry  a  fish.  But, 
if  you  persist  in  your  demands,  I  will  eat  your  stew, 
and  I  will  eat  it  with  pleasure  even  if  it  is  well- 
cooked.  For  to  you,  to  you  alone,  Antiochus,  can  its 
digestion  be  dangerous.  You,  Monsieur  de  Cam- 
byse,  level  your  gun  at  my  breast  and  demand  that 
I  salute  you?  Well,  Marquis,  I  have  the  honour 
to  salute  you.  I  know  very  well  that  after  this  for- 
mality you  will  be  worth  no  more  and  I  no  less. 
There  is  only  one  case  in  which  we  ought  to  stand 
up  against  force,  whatever  the  consequences,  and 
that  is  when  they  try  to  force  us  to  commit  an  act 
which  is  harmful  to  the  people,  for  we  have  no  right 
to  set  our  persona]  interest  before  the  public 
interest. 


120  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

But  then  my  uncle  was  of  a  different  opinion.  As 
he  stood  firm  in  his  refusal,  M.  de  Cambyse  had 
him  seized  by  his  menials  and  ordered  them  to  return 
to  the  castle.  Benjamin,  pulled  in  front  and  pushed 
behind,  and  entangled  in  his  sword,  nevertheless 
protested  with  all  his  might  against  the  violence  to 
which  they  subjected  him,  and  still  found  a  way  to 
distribute  blows  right  and  left.  There  were  some 
peasants  at  work  in  the  neighbouring  fields.  My 
uncle  appealed  to  them  for  help;  but  they  were 
careful  not  to  heed  his  appeals,  and  even  laughed 
at  his  martyrdom  to  show  their  obsequiousness  to 
the  Marquis. 

When  they  had  reached  the  castle  yard,  M.  de 
Cambyse  ordered  that  the  gate  be  closed.  He  had 
the  bell  rung  to  summon  all  his  people.  They 
brought  two  arm-chairs,  one  for  him  and  one  for 
his  steward,  and  then  he  began  a  pretense  of  delib- 
erating with  him  over  the  fate  of  my  poor  uncle. 
My  uncle  maintained  his  proud  attitude  before  this 
parody  of  justice,  never  for  a  moment  relinquishing 
his  scornful,  mocking  air. 

The  worthy  steward  was  for  twenty-five  lashes 
and  forty-eight  hours  in  the  old  dungeon,  but  the 
Marquis  was  in  good  humour,  he  even  seemed  to  be 
slightly  under  the  influence  of  wine. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say  in  your  defence?"  said 
he  to  Benjamin. 

"Take  your  sword,"  answered  my  uncle,  "and 
come  with  me  thirty  feet;  away  from  your 


MY  UNCLE  KISSES  A  MARQUIS     121 

castle,  and  I  will  show  you  my  methods  of 
defence." 

Then  the  Marquis  rose  and  said: 

"The  court,  after  due  deliberation,  condemns  the 
individual  here  present  to  kiss  Monsieur  the  Mar- 
quis de  Cambyse,  lord  of  all  these  domains,  ex-lieu- 
tenant of  musketeers,  master  of  the  wolf-hounds  of 
the  bailiwick  of  Clamecy,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  in  a  spot 
which  the  said  Lord  de  Cambyse  will  make  known 
to  him  forthwith." 

Saying  which,  he  began  to  undo  his  breeches.  The 
menials  who  immediately  understood  his  intention, 
began  to  applaud  with  all  their  might  and  cry,  "Long 
live  the  Marquis  de  Cambyse!" 

My  poor  uncle  was  furious  with  rage.  He  said 
later  that  he  feared  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  Two 
game-keepers  stood  with  their  guns  levelled  at  him, 
with  the  order  from  the  Marquis  to  fire  at  his  first 
signal. 

"One,  two,"  said  the  nobleman. 

Benjamin  knew  that  the  Marquis  was  a  man  to 
execute  his  threat.  He  did  not  wish  to  run  the  risk 
of  being  shot,  and  ...  a  few  seconds  later  the  jus- 
tice of  the  Marquis  was  accomplished. 

"All  right,"  said  M.  de  Cambyse,  "I  am  satisfied 
with  you.  Now  you  can  boast  of  having  kissed  a 
Marquis." 

He  had  him  escorted  to  the  gate  by  two  armed 
game-keepers.  Benjamin  fled  like  a  dog  to  whose 
tail  a  mischievous  urchin  had  fastened  a  wooden 


122  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

slipper.  As  he  was  on  the  road  to  Corvol,  he  kept 
straight  on  in  that  direction,  and  went  to  M. 
Minxit's. 


CHAPTER  IX 

M.    MINXIT   PREPARES    FOR    WAR 

M.  MINXIT  had  already  been  informed,  I  know 
not  by  whom — by  rumour,  no  doubt,  which  meddles 
in  everything — that  Benjamin  was  held  a  prisoner 
at  Saint-Pierre  du  Mont.  To  free  his  friend  he 
knew  no  better  way  than  to  take  the  castle  of  the 
Marquis  by  assault  and  then  level  it  to  the  ground. 
You  laugh?  But  find  me  in  history  a  war  more  just. 
Where  the  government  does  not  know  how  to  make 
the  laws  respected,  the  citizens  must  take  the  law 
into  their  own  hands. 

M.  Minxit's  yard  resembled  a  camp.  The  mu- 
sicians, on  horseback,  armed  with  guns  of  all  sorts, 
were  already  drawn  up  in  battle  array.  The  old 
sergeant,  who  had  lately  entered  the  doctor's  service, 
had  taken  command  of  this  picked  body  of  men. 
From  the  middle  of  the  ranks  rose  a  large  flag  made 
out  of  a  window-curtain,  on  which  M.  Minxit  had 
inscribed  in  large  letters,  that  no  one  might  fail  to 
see  them:  THE  LIBERTY  OF  BENJAMIN  OR  THE 
EARS  OF  M.  DE  CAMBYSE.  That  was  his  ultima- 
tum. 

In  the  second  line  came  the  infantry,  consisting  of 
123 


I24  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

five  or  six  farm-hands  carrying  their  picks  on  their 
shoulders,  and  four  roofers  of  the  neighbourhood 
each  armed  with  his  ladder. 

The  transport  train  was  represented  by  the 
barouche.  It  was  loaded  with  fagots  with  which  to 
fill  up  the  moats  of  the  castle,  although  time  itself 
had  filled  them  up  in  several  places.  But  M.  Minxit 
insisted  on  doing  things  in  the  proper  regular  way. 
He  had  taken  the  further  precaution  of  putting  his 
case  of  surgical  instruments  and  a  big  flask  of  rum 
in  one  of  the  pockets  of  the  carriage. 

The  warlike  doctor,  with  feathers  in  his  hat  and 
an  unsheathed  sword  in  his  hand,  bustled  about  and 
with  a  voice  of  thunder  urged  his  men  on  to  hasten 
the  preparations  for  departure. 

It  is  customary  for  a  general  to  address  his  army, 
before  it  advances  to  battle.  M.  Minxit  was  not  a 
man  to  omit  a  formality  of  this  kind.  This  is  what 
he  said  to  his  soldiers: 

"Soldiers,  I  will  not  say  to  you  that  Europe  has 
its  eyes  fixed  upon  you,  that  your  names  will  be 
handed  down  to  posterity,  that  they  will  be  en- 
graved in  the  temple  of  glory,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  because 
those  are  empty  phrases,  useless  chaff  and  barren 
seeds  thrown  out  to  nincompoops.  What  I  have  to 
say  is  this: 

"In  all  wars  soldiers  fight  for  the  benefit  of  their 
sovereign.  Generally  they  have  not  even  the  ad- 
vantage of  knowing  why  they  die.  But  you  are  going 
to  fight  in  your  own  interest  and  in  the  interest  of 


M.  MINXIT  PREPARES  FOR  WAR     125 

your  wives  and  children,  if  you  have  any.  M.  Ben- 
jamin, whom  you  all  have  the  honour  to  know,  is 
to  become  my  son-in-law.  In  this  capacity  he  will 
reign  with  me,  over  you,  and  when  I  shall  be  no 
more,  he  will  be  your  master.  He  will  be  under 
infinite  obligation  to  you  for  all  of  the  dangers  to 
which  you  expose  yourselves  on  his  behalf,  and  he 
will  reward  you  generously. 

"But  it  is  not  only  to  restore  liberty  to  my  son-in- 
law  that  you  have  taken  up  arms.  Our  expedition 
will  result  also  in  the  deliverance  of  the  country 
from  a  tyrant  who  oppresses  it,  who  ruins  your 
grain,  who  beats  you  when  he  meets  you,  and  who 
behaves  very  improperly  with  your  wives.  One 
good  reason  is  enough  to  make  a  Frenchman  fight 
bravely.  You  have  two,  so  you  are  invincible.  The 
dead  shall  have  a  decent  burial  at  my  expense,  and 
the  wounded  shall  be  cared  for  in  my  house.  Long 
live  M.  Benjamin  Rathery!  Death  to  Cambyse! 
Destruction  to  his  castle!" 

"Bravo,  Monsieur  Minxit!"  said  my  uncle,  who 
had  just  come  in  through  a  back  gate,  as  became  a 
conquered  man.  "That  was  a  fine  speech.  If  you 
had  delivered  it  in  Latin,  I  should  have  thought  that 
you  pirated  it  from  Titus  Livius." 

At  sight  of  my  uncle  a  general  hurrah  went  up 
from  the  army.  M.  Minxit  gave  the  command, 
"At  ease!"  and  took  Benjamin  into  his  dining- 
room.  There  my  uncle  gave  a  most  circumstantial 
account  of  his  adventures,  and  with  a  fidelity  to 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

truth  that  statesmen  do  not  always  show  in  writing 
their  memoirs. 

M.  Minxit  was  outraged  at  the  insult  offered  to 
his  son-in-law,  and  ground  all  the  stumps  in  his  jaw. 
At  first  he  could  express  himself  only  in  curses, 
but  when  his  indignation  had  quieted  a  little,  he  said, 
"Benjamin,  you  are  nimbler  than  I  am.  You  take 
command  of  the  army,  and  we  will  march  against 
Cambyse's  castle.  Where  its  turrets  stood,  there 
shall  henceforth  grow  only  nettles  and  quitch- 
grass." 

"If  you  say  so,"  said  my  uncle,  "we  will  level  even 
the  mountain  of  Saint-Pierre.  But,  saving  the  re- 
spect that  I  owe  to  your  opinion,  I  believe  that  we 
ought  to  act  strategically.  We  will  scale  the  walls 
of  the  castle  by  night,  we  will  seize  De  Cambyse  and 
all  his  lackeys  drunk  with  wine  and  sleep,  as  Virgil 
says,  and  they  will  all  have  to  kiss  us." 

"A  fine  idea,"  answered  M.  Minxit.  "We 
have  a  good  league  and  a  half  to  travel  before  we 
reach  the  place,  and  it  will  be  dark  in  an  hour.  Run 
and  kiss  my  daughter,  and  we  will  start." 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle.  "The  devil ! 
What  a  hurry  you  are  in !  I  have  eaten  nothing 
to-day,  and  I  should  rather  like  to  breakfast  before 
we  start." 

"Then,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "I  will  give  the  order  to 
break  ranks,  and  a  ration  of  wine  shall  be  distributed 
to  our  soldiers  to  keep  them  in  breath." 

"That's   right,"   answered  my  uncle,    "they  will 


M.  MINXIT  PREPARES  FOR  WAR     127 

have  time  to  drink  themselves  drunk  while  I  am 
taking  my  refreshments." 

Fortunately  for  the  castle  of  the  Marquis,  lawyer 
Page,  who  was  returning  from  a  legal  examination, 
came  and  asked  leave  to  dine  at  M.  Minxit's. 

"You  come  just  at  the  right  time,  Monsieur 
Page,"  said  the  warlike  doctor.  "I  am  going  to 
enroll  you  in  our  expedition." 

"What  expedition?"  asked  Page,  who  had  not 
studied  law  in  order  to  go  to  war. 

Then  my  uncle  related  his  adventure  and  how  he 
proposed  to  avenge  himself. 

"Take  care,"  said  lawyer  Page.  "The  thing  is 
more  serious  than  you  think.  In  the  first  place,  as 
to  success.  Do  you  really  expect  to  overcome  a 
garrison  of  thirty  domestics  commanded  by  a  lieu- 
tenant of  musketeers  with  seven  or  eight  half- 
cripples?" 

"Twenty  men  and  all  hale  and  hearty,  Monsieur 
attorney,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

"Granted,"  said  lawyer  Page  coldly,  "but  the 
castle  of  M.  de  Cambyse  is  surrounded  by  walls. 
Will  these  walls  tumble,  like  those  of  Jericho  at  the 
sound  of  cymbals  and  bass-drums?  Suppose,  how- 
ever, that  you  take  the  Marquis'  castle  by  assault. 
It  will  be  a  fine  feat  of  arms,  no  doubt.  But  this 
exploit  is  not  likely  to  win  you  the  cross  of  Saint 
Louis.  Where  you  see  only  a  good  joke  and  legiti- 
mate reprisals,  justice  will  see  a  case  of  forcible 
entry,  scaling  of  walls,  infringement  of  domiciliary 


128  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

peace,  night  attack,  and  all  this  against  a  Marquis, 
too.  The  least  of  these  things  is  punishable  by  the 
galleys,  I  warn  you.  After  your  victory,  therefore, 
you  will  be  oblged  to  leave  the  country.  And 
what  for?  Simply  to  force  a  Marquis  to  kiss 
you. 

"When  one  can  avenge  himself  without  risk  and 
damage  to  oneself,  I  am  willing  to  admit  vengeance. 
But  to  avenge  oneself  to  one's  own  detriment  is 
ridiculous,  an  act  of  folly.  You,  Benjamin,  say  that 
you  have  been  insulted.  But  what  is  an  insult? 
Almost  always  an  act  of  brutality  committed  by  the 
stronger  to  the  prejudice  of  the  weaker.  Now  how 
can  another's  brutality  damage  your  honour?  Is  it 
your  fault  that  this  man  is  a  miserable  savage  who 
knows  no  other  right  than  might?  Are  you  respon- 
sible for  his  cowardice?  If  a  tile  should  fall  on 
your  head,  would  you  run  to  break  it  into  pieces? 
Would  you  think  yourself  insulted  by  a  dog  who  had 
bitten  you,  and  would  you  challenge  him  to  a  duel, 
like  the  strange  duel  of  Montargis'  poodle  with 
his  master's  assassin?  If  the  insult  dishonours  any- 
one, it  is  the  insulter  himself.  All  honest  people 
are  on  the  side  of  the  insulted.  When  a  butcher 
maltreats  a  sheep,  are  we  indignant  at  the  sheep? 
Eh? 

"If  the  evil  you  wish  to  do  to  your  insulter 
would  cure  you  of  that  which  he  has  done  to  you,  I 
could  understand  your  thirst  for  revenge.  But  if 
you  are  the  weaker,  you  will  bring  down  upon  your- 


M.   MINXIT   PREPARES  FOR  WAR     129 

self  new  acts  of  violence.  If,  on  the  contrary,  you 
are  the  stronger,  you  will  still  have  the  trouble  to 
fight  your  adversary.  Thus  the  man  who  avenges 
himself  always  plays  the  role  of  a  dupe.  The  pre- 
cept of  Jesus  Christ  which  tells  us  to  forgive  those 
who  have  offended  us  is  not  only  a  fine  moral  pre- 
cept, but  also  good,  sensible  advice.  From  all  which 
I  conclude  that  you  will  do  well,  my  dear  Benja- 
min, to  forget  the  honour  that  the  Marquis  has  done 
you,  and  to  drink  with  us  until  night  to  drown  the 
memory  of  it." 

"I  don't  share  cousin  Page's  opinion  at  all.  It  is 
always  pleasant  and  sometimes  useful  honestly  to 
return  the  evil  that  has  been  done  us.  It  serves  as 
a  lesson  to  the  wicked.  Let  them  know  that  it  is  at 
their  own  risk  and  peril  that  they  abandon  them- 
selves to  their  evil  instincts.  To  let  the  viper  that 
has  bitten  you  escape  when  you  might  crush  it,  and 
to  forgive  the  wicked,  is  the  same  thing.  Generosity 
in  such  a  case  is  not  only  stupidity,  it  is  a  wrong 
against  society.  Though  Jesus  Christ  said,  'For- 
give your  enemies,'  Saint  Peter  cut  off  Malchus's 
ear;  which  make  things  even." 

My  uncle  was  as  obstinate  as  a  donkey.  For 
that  matter  obstinacy  is  an  hereditary  vice  in  our 
family.  Nevertheless  he  agreed  that  lawyer  Page 
was  right. 

"I  believe,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  he,  "that  the 
best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  put  your  sword  bade 
in  the  scabbard  and  your  plumed  hat  in  its  box.  War 


i3o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

should  be  made  only  for  extremely  serious  causes, 
and  the  king  who  drags  a  part  of  his  people  unneces- 
sarily to  those  vast  slaughter-houses  known  as  bat- 
tle-fields is  a  murderer.  Perhaps  it  would  flatter 
you,  Monsieur  Minxit,  to  be  enrolled  among  the 
heroes.  But  what  is  the  glory  of  a  general?  Cities 
in  ruins,  villages  in  ashes,  countries  ravaged,  women 
abandoned  to  the  brutality  of  the  soldiers,  children 
led  away  captive,  casks  of  wine  in  the  cellars  staved 
in.  Have  you  not  read  Fenelon,  Monsieur  Minxit? 
All  these  things  are  atrocious.  I  shudder  at  the 
very  thought  of  them." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  answered  Mon- 
sieur Minxit,  "this  is  a  question  only  of  a  few  blows 
of  a  pick-axe  at  some  old  crumbling  walls." 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "why  take  the  trouble  to 
knock  them  down  when  they  are  ready  to  fall  of 
themselves?  Please  restore  peace  to  this  beautiful 
country.  I  should  be  a  coward  and  a  wretch  if,  in 
order  to  avenge  an  injury  wholly  personal  to  myself, 
I  should  let  you  expose  yourself  to  the  manifold  dan- 
gers that  our  expedition  would  involve." 

"But,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "I  have  some  personal 
injuries  of  my  own  to  avenge  on  this  country  squire. 
He  once  mockingly  sent  me  horse's  urine  instead  of 
human  urine  for  examination." 

"A  fine  reason  for  risking  six  years  in  the  galleys ! 
No,  Monsieur  Minxit,  posterity  would  not  absolve 
you.  If  you  will  not  think  of  yourself,  think  of  your 
daughter,  of  your  dear  Arabella.  What  pleasure 


M.  MINXIT  PREPARES  FOR  WAR     131 

would  she  take  in  making  such  good  cream  cheeses, 
if  you  were  no  longer  here  to  eat  them?" 

This  appeal  to  the  paternal  feelings  of  the  old 
doctor  had  its  effect. 

"Promise  me,  at  least,"  he  said,  "that  justice  shall 
be  done  to  M.  de  Cambyse  for  his  insolence.  For 
you  are  my  son-in-law,  and  from  this  time  forth, 
where  honour  is  concerned,  we  are  as  one  man  instead 
of  two." 

"Oh,  rest  easy  as  to  that,  Monsieur  Minxit!  I 
shall  always  have  my  eye  trained  for  the  Marquis. 
I  shall  watch  him  with  the  patient  attention  of  a  cat 
watching  a  mouse.  Some  day  or  other  I  shall  catch 
him  alone  and  without  an  escort.  Then  he  will 
have  to  cross  his  noble  sword  with  my  rapier,  or  I 
shall  cudgel  him  to  my  heart's  content.  I  cannot 
swear,  like  the  old  knights,  to  let  my  beard  grow  or 
to  eat  hard  bread  until  I  have  avenged  myself,  be- 
cause the  one  is  unbefitting  our  profession  and  the 
other  is  contrary  to  my  temperament.  But  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  will  not  become  your  son-in-law  until 
the  insult  that  has  been  offered  me  shall  have  been 
gloriously  atoned  for." 

"No,  no,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  "you  go  too  far, 
Benjamin.  I  do  not  accept  this  impious  oath.  On 
the  contrary,  you  must  marry  my  daughter.  You 
can  avenge  yourself  afterward  as  well  as  before." 

"How  can  you  think  so,  Monsieur  Minxit?  Since 
I  must  fight  to  the  death  with  the  Marquis,  my  life 
no  longer  belongs  to  me.  I  cannot  think  of  marry- 


132  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

ing  your  daughter,  and  perhaps  leave  her  a  widow 
the  very  day  after  her  wedding." 

The  good  doctor  tried  to  shake  my  uncle's  reso- 
lution, but  seeing  that  he  could  not  succeed,  he  de- 
cided to  change  his  clothes  and  disband  his  army. 

Thus  ended  this  great  expedition,  which  cost 
humanity  little  blood,  but  M.  Minxit  much  wine. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  MADE  THE  MARQUIS  KISS  HIM 

BENJAMIN  had  passed  the  night  at  Corvol. 

The  next  day,  as  he  was  leaving  the  house  with 
M.  Minxit,  the  first  person  they  saw  was  Fata. 
Fata,  who  did  not  have  a  clear  conscience,  would 
rather  have  met  two  big  wolves  in  his  path  than 
my  uncle  and  M.  Minxit.  Still,  as  he  could  not 
run  away,  he  decided  to  put  the  best  face  he  could 
on  the  matter  and  walked  up  to  my  uncle. 

"How  do  you  do,  Monsieur  Rathery?  How  are 
you,  honourable  Monsieur  Minxit?  Well,  Mon- 
sieur Benjamin,  how  did  you  get  out  of  your  diffi- 
culty with  our  Gessler?  I  was  terribly  afraid  he 
might  play  you  a  mean  trick.  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink 
the  whole  night." 

"Fata,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "keep  your  obsequious- 
ness for  the  Marquis  when  you  meet  him.  Is  it 
true  that  you  told  M.  de  Cambvse  that  you  don't 
want  to  know  Benjamin  any  more?" 

"I  don't  remember,  my  good  Monsieur  Minxit." 

"And  is  it  true  that  you  told  the  Marquis  that  I 
was  not  a  man  to  associate  with?" 

"I  could  not  have  said  that,  my  dear  Monsieur 


i34  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Minxit.     You  know  how  much  I  esteem  you,  my 
friend." 

"I  declare  on  my  honour  that  he  said  both,"  said 
my  uncle,  with  the  icy  coldness  of  a  judge. 

"Very  well,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "then  we  will  settle 
his  account." 

"Fata,"  said  Benjamin,  "I  warn  you  that  M. 
Minxit  intends  to  flog  you.  Here  is  my  switch. 
For  the  honour  of  the  profession,  defend  yourself. 
A  doctor  cannot  allow  himself  to  be  whipped  like  a 
donkey." 

"The  law  is  on  my  side,"  said  Fata.  "If  he 
strikes  me,  every  blow  will  cost  him  dear." 

"I  am  willing  to  spend  a  thousand  francs,"  said 
M.  Minxit,  making  his  whip  whistle  in  the  air. 
"Take  this,  Fata  fatorum,  Destiny,  Providence  of 
the  ancients !  And  this,  and  this,  and  this,  and  this !" 

The  peasants  came  to  their  doorways  to  see 
Fata  flogged.  For,  be  it  said  to  the  shame  of  our 
poor  humanity,  nothing  is  so  dramatic  as  to  see  a 
man  ill-treated. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  Fata,  "I  place  myself  under 
your  protection." 

But  no  one  budged  from  his  place.  Owing  to 
the  esteem  which  M.  Minxit  enjoyed,  he  was  looked 
upon  as  having  in  a  way  the  right  to  administer 
petty  justice  in  the  village. 

"Then,"  continued  the  infortunate  Fata,  "I  call 
on  you  as  witnesses  of  the  violence  perpetrated  on 
my  person.  I  am  a  doctor  of  medicine." 


THE  MARQUIS  KISSES  MY  UNCLE     135 

"Wait,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "I  will  strike  harder, 
so  that  those  who  do  not  see  the  blows  may  hear 
them,  and  that  you  may  have  some  scars  to  show 
the  bailiff." 

And  he  did  indeed  strike  harder,  ferocious 
plebeian  that  he  was. 

"Just  you  wait,  Minxit,"  said  Fata,  as  he  went 
away,  "you  will  have  to  deal  with  M.  de  Cambyse. 
He  will  not  suffer  me  to  be  maltreated  because  I 
salute  him." 

"Tell  Cambyse,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "that  I  laugh 
him  to  scorn,  that  I  have  more  men  than  he,  that 
my  house  is  more  solid  than  his  castle,  and  that  if 
he  wants  to  come  to-morrow  to  the  plateau  of  Fer- 
tiant  with  his  people,  I  am  his  man." 

To  have  done  with  this  incident,  let  me  say  at 
once  that  Fata  had  M.  Minxit  cited  before  the  bailiff 
to  answer  for  the  violence  he  had  done  him,  but 
that  he  could  not  find  a  single  witness  to  testify  to 
the  fact,  although  the  thing  had  happened  in  the 
presence  of  a  hundred  people. 

When  my  uncle  reached  Clamecy,  his  sister 
handed  him  a  letter  postmarked  Paris,  with  the  fol- 
lowing contents : 

MONSIEUR  RATHERY: 

I  have  learned  on  good  authority  that  you  intend  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  Minxit.     I  expressly  forbid  you  to  do  so. 

VICOMTE  DE  PONT-CASSE:. 

My  uncle  sent  Gaspard  to  fetch  him  a  sheet  of 


136  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

royal  writing  paper,  took  Machecourt's  ink-stand, 
and  replied  at  once: 

MONSIEUR  VICOMTE: 
You  may  go  to  ... 

Accept  the  assurance  of  the  respectful  sentiments  with  which 
I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Your  humble  and  devoted  servant, 

B.  RATHERY. 

Where  did  my  uncle  wish  to  send  his  vicomte?  I 
don't  know.  I  have  made  inquiries  to  penetrate  the 
mystery  of  the  words  left  unwritten.  In  vain.  At 
any  rate,  I  have  given  you  an  example  of  the  firm- 
ness, precision,  force  and  accuracy  of  his  style  when 
he  took  the  trouble  to  write. 

Meanwhile,  my  uncle  had  not  abandoned  his  ideas 
of  revenge.  Quite  the  contrary.  The  following 
Friday,  after  visiting  his  patients,  he  sharpened  his 
sword  and  put  Machecourt's  overcoat  over  his  red 
coat.  As  he  did  not  wish  to  sacrifice  his  queue  and  as 
he  could  not  put  it  in  his  pocket,  he  hid  it  under  his 
old  wig,  and,  thus  disguised,  went  to  seek  out  his 
Marquis.  He  established  his  headquarters  in  a 
sort  of  tavern  on  the  edge  of  the  Clamecy  road 
opposite  the  Marquis'  castle.  The  host  had  just 
broken  his  leg.  My  uncle,  always  prompt  to  come 
to  the  aid  of  a  neighbour  who  has  broken  a  limb, 
declared  himself  a  physician  and  offered  the  help 
of  his  art  to  the  patient.  The  afflicted  family  per- 
mitted him  to  join  the  two  fragments  of  the  broken 


THE  MARQUIS  KISSES  MY  UNCLE     137 

shinbone;  which  he  did  quickly  and  to  the  great 
admiration  of  two  tall  lackeys  in  the  livery  of 
M.  de  Cambyse,  who  were  drinking  in  the  wine- 
shop. 

When  the  operation  was  finished,  my  uncle  took 
up  his  position  in  an  upper  chamber  of  the  tavern, 
directly  above  the  sign,  and  began  to  observe  the 
castle  with  a  spy-glass,  which  he  had  borrowed  from 
M.  Minxit.  He  had  been  waiting  there  a  good  hour 
without  noticing  anything  to  his  purpose,  when  he 
saw  a  lackey  of  M.  de  Cambyse  come  running  down 
the  hill  at  full  speed.  The  man  stepped  to  the  door 
of  the  tavern,  and  asked  if  the  doctor  was  still  there. 
Receiving  an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  he  went  up 
to  my  uncle's  room,  and,  doffing  his  hat,  begged  him 
to  come  to  the  castle  and  attend  M.  de  Cambyse, 
who  had  just  swallowed  a  fish-bone.  My  uncle  was 
at  first  tempted  to  refuse.  But  reflecting  that  this 
circumstance  might  favour  his  project  of  revenge, 
he  decided  to  follow  the  domestic. 

The  lackey  ushered  him  into  the  Marquis' 
chamber.  M.  de  Cambyse  was  in  his  arm-chair, 
with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands,  and  his  elbows 
on  his  knees.  He  seemed  to  be  violently  agitated. 
The  Marquise,  a  pretty  brunette  of  twenty-five, 
was  standing  beside  him,  trying  to  calm  him.  On 
the  arrival  of  my  uncle,  the  Marquis  raised  his  head 
and  said: 

"I  swallowed  a  fish-bone  at  dinner,  which  has 
stuck  in  my  throat.  I  had  heard  that  you  were  in 


138  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

the  village,  and  I  sent  for  you,  although  I  have  not 
the  honour  of  knowing  you.  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
refuse  me  your  aid." 

"We  owe  that  to  everybody,"  answered  my  uncle, 
with  icy  coldness.  "To  the  rich  as  well  as  to  the 
poor,  to  noblemen  as  well  as  to  peasants,  to  the 
wicked  as  well  as  to  the  just." 

"This  man  frightens  me,"  said  the  Marquis  to  his 
wife,  "make  him  go  away." 

"But,"  said  the  Marquise,  "you  know  very  well 
that  no  doctor  will  venture  into  the  castle.  You 
have  this  one  here,  try  to  keep  him  at  least." 

The  Marquis  yielded  to  this  advice.  Benjamin 
examined  the  sick  man's  throat,  and  shook  his 
head  with  an  air  of  anxiety.  The  Marquise  turned 
pale. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  said.  "Can  it  be  even 
more  serious  than  we  supposed?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  supposed,"  answered 
Benjamin,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "but  it  will  be  very 
serious  indeed  unless  the  right  measures  are  taken 
immediately.  You  have  swallowed  a  salmon  bone,  a 
bone  from  the  tail,  the  place  where  it  is  most 
poisonous." 

"That's  true,"  said  the  astonished  Marquise. 
"How  did  you  find  it  out?" 

"By  inspection  of  the  throat,  Madame." 

The  fact  is,  he  had  found  it  out  in  a  very  simple 
way.  On  passing  the  open  door  of  the  dining-room, 
he  had  seen  a  salmon  on  the  table,  with  only  the  tail 


THE  MARQUIS  KISSES  MY  UNCLE     139 

missing,  from  which  he  inferred  that  the  swallowed 
fish-bone  had  come  from  the  tail. 

"We  have  never  heard  that  salmon  bones  are 
poisonous,"  said  the  Marquise  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  fright. 

"That  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  they  are,  and 
very  much  so,"  said  Benjamin,  "and  I  should  be 
sorry  to  have  Madame  Marquise  doubt  it,  for  I 
should  be  obliged  to  contradict  her.  The  bones  of 
the  salmon,  like  the  leaves  of  the  manchineel  tree, 
contain  a  substance  so  bitter  and  corrosive  that  if 
this  bone  should  remain  a  half-hour  longer  in  the 
Marquis'  throat,  it  would  produce  an  inflammation 
which  I  could  not  subdue,  and  the  operation  would 
become  impossible." 

"In  that  case,  doctor,  operate  directly,  I  beg  of 
you,"  said  the  Marquis,  getting  more  and  more 
frightened. 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle.  "The  thing  can- 
not move  as  fast  as  you  would  like.  There  is  a  little 
formality  to  be  gone  through  first." 

"Hurry  up  and  go  through  it,  then,  and  begin." 

"It's  something  you  have  to  do." 

"Tell  me  what  it  is,  surgeon  of  misfortune!  Are 
you  going  to  let  me  die  of  neglect?" 

"I  still  hesitate,"  continued  Benjamin,  slowly  and 
deliberatingly.  "How  shall  I  venture  to  make  such 
a  proposition  to  you?  To  a  Marquis!  To  a  man 
descended  in  direct  line  from  Cambyse,  king  of 
Egypt!" 


i4o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"You  wretch,  I  believe  you  are  taking  advantage 
of  my  position  to  make  fun  of  me,"  cried  the  Mar- 
quis, the  violence  of  his  character  reasserting  itself. 

"Why  no,  not  at  all,"  answered  Benjamin,  coldly. 
"Do  you  remember  a  man  that  you  ordered  your 
menials  to  drag  into  your  castle  three  months  ago, 
because  he  did  not  salute  you,  and  then  you  inflicted 
the  most  outrageous  affront  upon  him  that  one  man 
can  inflict  upon  another?" 

"A  man  I  made — kiss  me.  Actually,  you  are  the 
man.  I  recognise  you  by  your  five  feet  ten  inches." 

"Well,  the  man  of  the  five  feet  ten  inches,  the  man 
you  looked  upon  as  an  insect,  as  a  grain  of  dust, 
the  man  you  would  never  meet  except  under  your 
feet,  that  man  now  demands  satisfaction  of  you  for 
the  insult  you  offered  him." 

"My  God,  I  ask  nothing  better.  Mention  the 
sum  at  which  you  value  your  honour,  and  I  will  have 
it  paid  to  you  directly." 

"So  you  think,  Marquis  de  Cambyse,  do  you,  that 
you  are  rich  enough  to  reimburse  the  honour  of  an 
honourable  man?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  wretched 
clerk?  Do  you  think  I  will  allow  myeslf  to  be  in- 
sulted in  return  for  money?  No,  no,  it  is  satisfac- 
tion I  want,  satisfaction  for  the  insult  to  my  honour! 
Do  you  hear,  Marquis  de  Cambyse?" 

"Very  well.  I  agree,"  said  M.  de  Cambyse,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  hands  of  the  clock.  In  terror 
he  saw  the  fatal  half  hour  slipping  by.  "In  the 
presence  of  the  Marquise,  I  will  declare,  and  in 


THE  MARQUIS  KISSES  MY  UNCLE     141 

writing,  if  you  wish,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honour 
and  I  did  wrong  to  insult  you." 

"The  devil !  You  get  rid  of  your  debts  quickly ! 
Do  you  think  that  when  you  have  insulted  an  honour- 
able man  all  you  need  do  is  admit  you  were  wrong, 
and  then  everything  is  all  right  aaain?  To-morrow 
you  and  your  country  squires  would  laugh  at  the 
simpleton  who  contented  himself  with  a  mere  show 
of  satisfaction.  No,  no,  it  is  the  penalty  of  eye 
for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  that  you  must  submit  to. 
The  weak  man  of  yesterday  is  the  strong  man  of 
to-day.  The  worm  has  turned  into  a  snake.  You 
won't  escape  my  sentence,  as  you  escaped  the  magis- 
trate's. There  is  no  protection  that  can  defend  you 
against  me.  I  kissed  you.  You  must  kiss  me." 

"Have  you  forgotten,  wretch,  that  I  am  the  Mar- 
quis de  Cambyse?" 

"You  forgot  that  I  am  Benjamin  Rathery.  An 
insult  is  like  God.  In  its  presence  all  men  are  equal. 
There  is  no  Insulter  the  Great  and  no  Insulted  the 
Small." 

"Lackeys,"  said  the  Marquis,  who  in  his  wrath 
forgot  the  supposed  danger  he  was  in,  "take  this 
man  to  the  yard  and  have  him  given  a  hundred 
lashes.  I  want  to  hear  him  howl  from  here." 

"Very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  "but  in  ten  minutes  it 
will  be  impossible  to  perform  the  operation,  and  in 
an  hour  you  will  be  dead." 

"Can't  I  send  my  messenger  to  Varzy  for  a 
surgeon?" 


142  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"If  your  footman  finds  the  surgeon  at  home,  he 
will  bring  him  here  just  in  time  to  see  you  die  and 
come  to  the  assistance  of  the  Marquise." 

"But  you  can't  possibly  remain  inexorable,"  said 
the  Marquise.  "Isn't  there  more  pleasure  in  for- 
giveness than  in  revenge?" 

"Oh,  Madame,"  replied  Benjamin,  bowing  grace- 
fully, "I  assure  you,  had  it  been  from  you  that  I 
received  such  an  insult,  I  should  not  have  resented 
it." 

Madame  de  Cambyse  smiled.  Realising  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  with  my  uncle,  she  herself  urged 
her  husband  to  submit  to  necessity,  and  pointed  out 
that  he  had  but  five  minutes  left  in  which  to  make 
up  his  mind. 

The  Marquis,  subdued  by  fear,  made  a  sign  to 
the  two  lackeys  who  were  in  his  room  to  retire. 

"No,"  said  the  inflexible  Benjamin,  "that  is  not 
the  way  I  mean.  On  the  contrary,  lackeys,  you  will 
go  and  notify  the  people  of  M.  de  Cambyse  in  his 
name  that  they  are  to  come  here.  They  were  wit- 
nesses of  the  insult.  They  must  be  witnesses  of  the 
satisfaction.  Madame  the  Marquise  alone  is  per- 
mitted to  retire." 

The  Marquis  glanced  at  the  clock  and  saw  there 
were  but  three  minutes  left.  As  the  lackey  did  not 
budge,  he  said: 

"Hurry,  Pierre.  Carry  out  Monsieur's  orders. 
Don't  you  see  that  he  alone  is  master  here  at  this 
moment?" 


THE  MARQUIS  KISSES  MY  UNCLE     143 

The  domestics  arrived  one  after  another,  all  ex- 
cept the  steward.  Benjamin,  unrelenting  to  the  end, 
would  not  begin  until  he  came  in,  too. 

"Good,"  said  Benjamin,  "now  we  are  quits,  and 
everything  is  forgotten.  Now  I  will  conscientiously 
attend  to  your  throat." 

He  extracted  the  bone  very  quickly  and  very 
deftly,  and  placed  it  in  the  Marquis's  hands,  and 
while  the  Marquis  was  examining  it  curiously,  he 
said: 

"I  must  give  you  some  fresh  air." 

He  opened  a  window,  swung  himself  down  into 
the  yard,  and  in  two  or  three  strides  of  his  long  legs 
was  at  the  gate.  While  he  hurried  down  the  hill- 
side, the  Marquis  stood  at  the  window,  shouting: 

"Stop,  Monsieur  Benjamin  Rathery.  Please  stop. 
Come  back  and  receive  my  thanks  and  the  Mar- 
quise's thanks.  I  must  pay  you  for  the  operation." 

But  Benjamin  was  not  a  man  to  be  trapped  by  such 
fine  words.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  met  the  Mar- 
quis's messenger. 

"Landry,"  he  said,  "my  compliments  to  the  Mar- 
quise, and  reassure  M.  de  Cambyse  in  regard  to 
salmon  bones.  They  are  no  more  poisonous  than 
a  pike's  bones,  only  they  should  not  be  swallowed. 
He  should  keep  warm  compresses  about  his  throat, 
and  in  two  or  three  days  he  will  be  cured." 

As  soon  as  my  uncle  was  off  the  Marquis's  estate, 
he  turned  to  the  right,  crossed  the  meadows  of  Flez 


144  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

and  the  thousands  of  brooks  that  intersected  them, 
and  went  to  Corvol.  He  wanted  first  of  all  to 
regale  old  M.  Minxit  with  the  news  of  his  exploit. 
He  saw  him  from  a  distance  standing  in  front  of 
his  door,  and  waved  his  handkerchief  triumphantly 
and  shouted : 

"We  are  avenged." 

The  good  old  man  ran  to  meet  him  as  quickly  as 
his  short  fat  legs  would  carry  him,  and  threw  him- 
self into  his  arms  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  his 
son.  My  uncle  said  he  even  tried  to  hide  two  big 
tears  that  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  The  old  doctor, 
whose  nature  was  no  less  proud  and  wrathful  than 
Benjamin's,  was  beside  himself  with  joy.  On  reach- 
ing the  house  he  told  the  musicians  to  celebrate  the 
glorious  day  by  blowing  the  trumpets  until  night, 
and  then  he  told  them  to  get  drunk — an  order  that 
was  punctually  executed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  HELPED  HIS  TAILOR  TO  ATTACH  HIS 
PROPERTY 

NEVERTHELESS,  Benjamin  returned  to  Clamecy  a 
little  disturbed  by  the  audacity  of  his  exploit.  But 
the  next  day  the  messenger  from  the  castle  brought 
him  a  note  from  his  master  and  a  considerable  sum 
of  money.  The  note  read  as  follows : 

The  Marquis  de  Cambyse  begs  M.  Benjamin  Rathery  to  forget 
what  passed  between  them,  and  in  payment  for  the  operation  he 
so  skilfully  performed  to  accept  this  trifling  sum. 

"Oh,"  said  my  uncle,  after  reading  this  letter, 
"the  good  lord  wants  to  pay  me  to  hold  my  tongue. 
He  is  even  honest  enough  to  pay  me  in  advance.  A 
pity  he  does  not  treat  all  his  trades-people  the  same 
way.  Had  I  extracted  the  fish-bone  simply,  in  the 
regular  way  without  any  fuss  or  ceremony,  he  would 
have  pressed  a  six-franc  piece  into  my  hand  and  sent 
me  to  the  kitchen  for  a  bite.  Moral :  It  is  better  to 
be  feared  than  to  be  loved  by  the  aristocrats.  May 
God  damn  me  if  ever  I  depart  from  this  principle! 

"Nevertheless,  since  I  have  no  intention  of  hold- 

H5 


146  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

ing  my  tongue,  I  cannot  conscientiously  keep  this 
money.  If  one  is  to  be  honest  at  all,  one  should 
be  honest  with  everybody.  But  I'd  like  to  see  how 
much  money  is  in  this  bag.  I'd  like  to  see  how  much 
he  pays  for  the  operation,  and  how  much  for  me  to 
hold  my  tongue.  One  hundred  and  fifty  francs ! 
Thunder!  Cambyse  comes  down  handsomely.  To 
the  thrasher  who  swings  his  flail  from  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  until  eight  o'clock  at  night,  he  gives 
only  twelve  sous,  and  that  without  any  guarantee 
that  he  won't  also  give  the  man  a  beating  to 
boot.  And  he  pays  me  one  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  work.  I  call  that 
generosity. 

"M.  Minxit  would  have  asked  a  hundred  francs 
for  the  extraction  of  this  bone.  But  he  practises 
medicine  on  the  grand  orchestra  and  loud  noise  plan. 
He  has  four  horses  and  twelve  musicians  to  feed. 
For  me,  who  have  nothing  to  support  but  my  case 
of  instruments  and  my  personage — a  personage  of 
five  feet  ten  inches,  to  be  sure — two  pistoles  is 
enough.  So,  taking  twenty  from  one  hundred  and 
fifty,  there  are  thirteen  pistoles  to  go  back  to  the 
Marquis.  I  almost  feel  remorse  at  taking  any  of 
his  money.  I'd  pay  a  thousand  francs  myself — to 
be  paid  after  my  death,  of  course — rather  than  not 
have  performed  that  operation  for  which  I  am  tak- 
ing twenty  francs.  That  poor  aristocrat,  how  small 
and  pitiful  he  looked  with  his  pale,  beseeching  face 
and  the  salmon-bone  in  his  throat!  How  humbly 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  147 

nobility  in  his  person  apologised  to  the  people  rep- 
resented in  my  person!  He  would  willingly  have 
allowed  me  to  fasten  his  escutcheon  to  his  hind  parts. 
If  there  was  a  portrait  of  one  of  his  ancestors  in 
the  room  at  the  time,  his  brow  must  still  be  red  with 
shame.  I  should  like  the  little  spot  he  kissed  me 
on  to  be  separated  from  the  rest  of  my  body  after 
my  death,  and  transferred  to  the  Pantheon,  that  is, 
of  course,  if  the  people  have  a  Pantheon  by  that 
time. 

"But,  Marquis,  that  does  not  mean  that  you  are 
to  be  let  off  this  way.  Before  three  days  have 
expired,  the  entire  bailiwick  shall  know  of  your 
adventure.  I  even  intend  to  have  it  related  to  pos- 
terity by  Millot-Rataut,  our  Christmas  poet.  All  he 
need  do  is  fill  a  dozen  sheets  with  Alexandrines  on 
the  theme.  As  for  these  twenty  francs,  they  are 
money  found.  They  are  not  to  pass  through  my 
dear  sister's  hands.  To-morrow  is  Sunday.  To- 
morrow, then,  I  shall  give  my  friends  a  supper  with 
this  money  such  as  I  have  never  given  them  before, 
a  supper  for  which  I  shall  pay  cash.  They  should 
know  how  a  man  of  wit  can  avenge  himself  without 
recourse  to  his  sword." 

Having  thus  adjusted  the  matter,  my  uncle  began 
to  write  to  the  Marquis  notifying  him  of  the  return 
of  the  money.  I  should  be  delighted  were  I  able  to 
give  my  readers  this  specimen  of  my  uncle's  epis- 
tolary style.  Unhappily,  his  letter  is  not  to  be  found 
.among  the  historical  documents  that  my  grand- 


i48  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

father  kept  for  us.  Perhaps  my  uncle  the  tobacco- 
merchant  used  it  for  a  paper  bag. 

While  Benjamin  was  writing,  the  maker  of  his 
red  suits  came  in  with  a  bill  folded  up  in  his  hand. 

"What's  that?"  said  Benjamin,  laying  his  pen  on 
the  table.  "Your  bill  again,  Monsieur  Bonteint, 
forever  your  eternal  bill?  My  God,  you  have  pre- 
sented it  to  me  so  many  times  that  I  know  it  by 
heart.  Six  yards  of  scarlet  cloth,  double  width — 
isn't  that  so? — with  ten  yards  of  lining  and  three 
sets  of  carved  buttons?" 

"That's  right,  Monsieur  Rathery,  exactly  right. 
A  total  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six 
deniers.  May  I  be  barred  out  of  Paradise  if  I  do 
not  lose  at  least  a  hundred  francs  on  this  trans- 
action!" 

"If  that  is  so,"  my  uncle  replied,  "why  waste 
your  time  smearing  up  all  that  ugly  paper?  You 
know  I  never  have  money,  Monsieur  Bonteint." 

"On  the  contrary,  Monsieur  Rathery,  I  see  you 
have  some,  and  I  see  I  came  at  exactly  the  right 
moment.  There's  a  bag  on  the  table  which  must  hold 
just  about  the  amount  of  my  bill,  and  if  you  will 
permit  me " 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  quickly  laying 
his  hand  on  the  bag.  "This  money  does  not  belong 
to  me,  Monsieur  Bonteint.  Here  is  the  very  letter 
of  return  that  I  have  just  written,  wjiich  you  made 
me  blot.  Here,"  he  added,  handing  the  letter  .j 
the  merchant,  "if  you  wish  to  read  it." 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  149 

"No  use,  Monsieur  Rathery,  absolutely  no  use. 
All  I  want  to  know  is  when  you  will  have  some 
money  that  belongs  to  you." 

"Alas,  M.  Bonteint,  who  can  foretell  the  future? 
I  should  very  much  like  to  know  the  same  thing 
myself." 

"In  that  case,  Monsieur  Rathery,  you  will  not 
take  it  ill  if  I  go  directly  to  Parlanta  and  tell  him 
to  push  my  suit  against  you." 

"You  are  out  of  sorts,  my  dear  sir.  On  what 
kind  of  cloth  have  you  been  working  to-day?" 

"Out  of  sorts,  Monsieur  Rathery?  Don't  you 
think  I  have  reason  to  be?  For  three  years  you  have 
been  owing  me  this  money,  and  you  put  me  off  from 
month  to  month  on  the  ground  of  some  epidemic 
that  has  never  come.  It's  on  your  account  that 
Madame  Bonteint  quarrels  with  me  every  day.  She 
finds  fault  with  me  for  not  knowing  how  to  collect 
my  bills,  and  sometimes  she  gets  so  furious  that  she 
treats  me  like  a  blockhead." 

"Certainly  a  very  amiable  lady.  You  are  fortu- 
nate, Monsieur  Bonteint,  in  having  such  a  wife,  and 
I  beg  you  to  present  my  compliments  to  her  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"I  thank  you,  Monsieur  Rathery,  but  my  wife  is, 
as  they  say,  something  of  a  Greek.  She  prefers 
money  to  compliments,  and  she  says,  if  you  had  had 
to  deal  w'f^»  rrrr  r'vq]  Grop^ez.  vou  would  have 
been  in  the  Hotel  Boutron  long  ago." 

"The  devil  take  it !"  cried  my  uncle,  furious  that 


150  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Bonteint  was  not  making  off.  "It  is  your  fault  if 
I  have  not  settled  with  you.  All  your  rivals  either 
have  been  or  are  sick.  Dutorrent  has  had  two 
attacks  of  pneumonia  this  year.  Artichaut  has  had 
typhoid  fever,  Sergifer,  rheumatism,  and  Ratine  has 
had  diarrhoea  for  six  months.  While  you — you  enjoy 
perfect  health.  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of  sup- 
plying you  with  medicine.  Your  face  is  as  fresh  as 
one  of  your  pieces  of  nankeen,  and  Madame  Bonteint 
looks  like  a  statuette  of  fresh  butter.  You  see  I 
have  been  deceived.  I  thought  you  would  be 
an  honour  to  my  clientele.  Had  I  known  then  what 
I  know  now,  I  would  not  have  given  you  my 
custom." 

"But,  Monsieur  Rathery,  I  can't  see  why  either 
Madame  Bonteint  or  myself  are  obliged  to  be  ill 
so  as  to  help  you  pay  your  debts." 

"And  I  say,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  that  you  are 
under  that  moral  obligation.  How  would  you  man- 
age to  pay  your  bills  if  your  customers  did  not 
wear  coats?  This  obstinacy  in  keeping  your  health 
is  an  abominable  procedure.  It  is  a  trap  you  set 
for  me.  At  this  moment  your  account-book  ought 
to  show  that  I  owe  you  fifty  crowns.  So  I  will 
deduct  one  hundred  and  thirty  francs  ten  sous  six 
deniers  from  your  bill  for  the  maladies  you  ought 
to  have  had.  You  will  admit  that  I  am  reasonable. 
You  are  very  lucky  to  pay  for  the  medicine  without 
having  had  to  call  in  a  doctor.  I  know  many  people 
who  would  like  to  be  in  your  place.  So,  then,  if 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  151 

from  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six 
deniers  we  take  one  hundred  and  thirty  francs  ten 
sous  six  deniers,  there  is  a  balance  of  twenty  francs 
still  due  you.  If  you  want  them,  here  they  are. 
I  advise  you  as  a  friend  to  take  them.  So  good 
an  opportunity  will  not  present  itself  soon  again." 

"On  account,"  said  M.  Bonteint,  "I  will  willingly 
take  twenty  francs  on  account." 

"In  final  settlement,"  insisted  my  uncle.  "Even 
so  I  need  all  my  strength  of  soul  to  make  this  sac- 
rifice. I  had  meant  the  money  to  be  used  for  a 
bachelors'  supper.  I  had  even  intended  to  invite 
you,  though  you  are  the  father  of  a  family." 

"Some  more  of  your  poor  jokes,  Monsieur  Ra- 
thery.  That's  all  I  can  ever  get  out  of  you.  You 
know  very  well  I  have  a  warrant  drawn  up  for  the 
seizure  of  your  property,  and  I  can  have  it  enforced 
immediately." 

"Exactly  what  I  complain  of,  Monsieur  Bon- 
teint. You  have  no  confidence  in  your  friends.  Why 
go  to  useless  expense?  Couldn't  you  come  to  me 
and  say,  'Monsieur  Rathery,  it  is  my  intention  to 
have  your  property  attached?'  I  would  have  an- 
swered, 'Attach  it  yourself,  Monsieur  Bonteint. 
You  don't  need  a  sheriff's  officer  for  that.'  I  will 
even  serve  as  a  bailiff's  man  for  you,  if  that  is 
agreeable  to  you.  Why  not  seize  it  now?  Don't 
stand  on  ceremony.  Everything  I  have  is  at  your 
disposal.  You  may  pack  up,  wrap  up,  and  carry 
away  anything  you  like," 


152  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"What,  you  would  be  good  enough,  Monsieur 
Rathery?" 

"Why  not,  Monsieur  Bonteint?  I  should  be  de- 
lighted to  be  arrested  by  your  hands.  I  will  even 
help  you  seize  my  things." 

My  uncle  opened  a  tumble-down  wardrobe  that 
still  had  some  copper  fittings  hanging  from  a  nail 
inside.  He  drew  out  a  drawer  and  removed  two  or 
three  old  queue  ribbons,  which  he  handed  to  M.  Bon- 
teint. 

"You  see,  you  won't  lose  everything.  These  ar- 
ticles will  not  count  in  the  total.  I  throw  them  in." 

"Umpf !"  answered  M.  Bonteint. 

"This  red  morocco  portfolio  is  my  case  of  instru- 
ments." 

M.  Bonteint  was  about  to  lay  his  hand  on  it. 

"Softly,"  said  Benjamin.  "The  law  does  not 
allow  you  to  touch  this.  These  are  the  tools  of  my 
profession,  and  I  have  a  right  to  keep  them." 

"But "  said  M.  Bonteint. 

"Here  is  a  corkscrew  with  an  ebony  handle  in- 
laid with  silver,"  Benjamin  said,  putting  it  in  his 
pocket.  "I  withdraw  it  from  my  creditors.  I  need 
it  more  than  you  do." 

"If  you  keep  everything  you  need  more  than  I 
do,  I  shall  certainly  not  need  a  cart  to  carry  off 
my  prize  in." 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  will  lose 
nothing  by  waiting.  Here  on  this  shelf  are  some 
old  :::edicine  bottles,  some  of  which  are  cracked. 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  153 

I  do  not  guarantee  their  integrity.  I  leave  them  to 
you  with  all  the  spiders  that  are  in  them.  On  this 
other  shelf  is  a  large  stuffed  vulture.  It  will  cost 
you  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  taking  it  down,  and 
it  will  do  nicely  as  a  sign  for  you." 

"Monsieur  Rathery!"  said  Bonteint. 

"Here  is  Machecourt's  wedding  wig.  I  don't  know 
how  it  happens  to  be  here.  I  do  not  offer  it  to  you, 
because  I  know  all  you  wear  is  a  toupee." 

"What  do  you  know  about  what  I  wear,  Monsieur 
Rathery?"  cried  Bonteint,  getting  more  and  more 
irritated. 

"Here  in  this  bottle,"  continued  my  uncle,  with 
imperturbable  sang-froid}  "is  a  tapeworm  which  I 
have  preserved  in  alcohol.  You  can  use  it  to  make 
garters  for  yourself,  Madame  Bonteint,  and  your 
children.  However,  I  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  mutilate  this  beautiful 
animal.  You  can  boast  of  having  the  longest  being 
in  creation,  not  excepting  the  immense  boa-con- 
strictor. Estimate  the  rest  at  whatever  you  like." 

"You  are  playing  with  me,  Monsieur  Rathery. 
These  things  have  not  the  slightest  value." 

"I  know  it,"  said  my  uncle,  coldly,  "but  then  you 
have  no  bailiff's  man  to  pay.  Now  here,  for  in- 
stance, is  an  article  that  alone  is  worth  the  entire 
amount  of  your  bill.  It  is  the  stone  I  extracted  two 
or  three  years  ago  from  the  mayor's  bladder.  You 
can  have  it  carved  into  the  shape  of  a  snuff-box,  put 
a  band  of  gold  about  it,  and  add  a  few  precious 


154  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

stones,  and  it  will  make  a  very  pretty  birthday  pres- 
ent for  Madame  Bonteint." 

Bonteint,  furious,  started  for  the  door. 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  catching  hold  of 
his  coat  tail.  "What  a  hurry  you  are  in,  Monsieur 
Bonteint.  I  have  shown  you  only  the  least  of  my 
treasures.  Here  is  an  old  engraving  representing 
Hippocrates,  the  father  of  medicine.  I  guarantee 
it  to  be  a  perfect  likeness.  And  here  are  three 
volumes  of  the  Medical  Gazette,  which  will  make 
delightful  entertainment  for  these  long  winter 
evenings." 

"You're  fooling  again,  Monsieur  Rathery." 

"My  goodness,  don't  be  angry,  papa  Bonteint. 
We  have  just  reached  the  most  valuable  article." 

My  uncle  opened  an  old  closet  and  took  out  two 
red  coats,  which  he  threw  at  M.  Bonteint's  feet.  A 
cloud  of  dust  arose  that  made  the  good  merchant 
cough,  and  a  swarm  of  spiders  scattered  about  the 
room. 

"The  last  two  coats  you  sold  me.  You  deceived 
me  outrageously,  Monsieur  Fauxteint.  They  faded 
in  one  morning  like  two  rose  leaves,  and  my  dear 
sister  could  not  even  use  them  to  colour  the  chil- 
dren's Easter  eggs.  You  deserve  to  have  a  deduc- 
tion made  from  your  bill  for  this  colour." 

"Oh,"  cried  Bonteint,  horrified,  "this  is  really  too 
much.  Never  was  a  creditor  treated  more  inso- 
lently. To-morrow  morning  you  shall  hear  from 
me,  Monsieur  Rathery." 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  155 

"So  much  the  better,  Monsieur  Bonteint.  I  shall 
always  be  delighted  to  learn  that  you  are  in  good 
health.  By  the  way,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  you  are 
forgetting  your  queue  ribbons !" 

As  Bonteint  went  out,  lawyer  Page  came  in.  He 
found  my  uncle  shaking  with  laughter. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  Bonteint?"  he 
said.  "I  just  met  him  on  the  stairs,  red  with  anger, 
He  was  in  such  a  fury  that  he  did  not  even  bow  to 
me." 

"The  old  imbecile  is  angry  with  me  because  I 
have  no  money.  As  if  that  ought  not  to  bother  me 
more  than  him!" 

"You  have  no  money,  my  poor  Benjamin?  Bad, 
doubly  bad,  because  I  came  to  offer  you  a  wonderful 
bargain." 

"Offer  it  just  the  same,"  said  Benjamin. 

"The  vicar  Djhiarcos  wishes  to  get  rid  of  a 
quarter-cask  of  Burgundy,  a  present  from  one  of 
his  pious  parishioners.  He  has  rheumatism,  and 
Doctor  Arnout  has  put  him  on  a  diet  of  tea,  which 
promises  to  last  a  long  time,  and  he  is  afraid  his 
wine  may  spoil.  He  wants  the  money  to  furnish  a 
home  for  a  poor  orphan  who  has  just  lost  her  last 
aunt.  So  it's  both  a  good  bargain  and  a  good  deed 
that  I  am  proposing  to  you." 

"All  very  well  and  good,"  said  Benjamin,  "but 
without  money  it  is  not  so  easy  to  do  a  good  deed. 
Good  deeds  are  expensive.  It  isn't  everybody  that  can 
afford  them.  But  what  is  your  opinion  of  the  wine?" 


t$6  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Exquisite,"  said  Page,  smacking  his  lips.  "He 
made  me  taste  it.  It  is  Beaune  of  the  first 
quality." 

"And  how  much  does  the  virtuous  Djhiarcos  want 
fork?" 

"Twenty-five  francs." 

"I  have  only  twenty  francs.  If  he  wants  to  let 
it  go  for  twenty  francs,  the  sale  is  concluded.  Then 
we  will  lunch  on  credit." 

"His  terms  are  twenty-five  francs,  take  it  or  leave 
it.  Twenty-five  francs  to  save  a  poor  orphan  from 
poverty  and  preserve  her  from  vice.  You  will  admit 
that  that  is  not  too  much." 

"If  you  had  five  francs,  Page,  we  could  buy  it 
together." 

"Alas,"  said  Page,  "it  is  a  good  fortnight  since 
I  have  seen  a  miserable  six-franc  piece.  Cash  seems 
to  be  afraid  of  M.  de  Calonne.  It  retires " 

"It  is  not  always  to  be  found  with  doctors,"  said 
my  uncle.  "So  we  must  think  no  more  of  your 
quarter-cask." 

For  sole  response,  Page  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

At  that  moment  my  grandmother  entered,  carry- 
ing a  big  roll  of  linen  in  her  arms,  like  an  Infant 
Jesus.  She  placed  it  on  my  uncle's  knees  enthusias- 
tically. 

"Look,  Benjamin,"  she  said,  "I  have  just  got  a 
superb  bargain.  I  caught  sight  of  this  piece  of  goods 
this  morning  going  around  the  fair.  You  need 
shirts,  and  I  thought  it  would  just  suit  you.  Madame 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  1 5  7 

Avril  bid  seventy-five  francs  for  it,  and  she  allowed 
the  merchant  to  leave,  but  I  could  see  from  the  way 
she  eyed  him  that  she  intended  to  call  him  back. 
'Let  me  see  your  linen,'  I  said  to  the  peasant.  I 
offered  him  eighty  francs.  I  didn't  think  he  would 
part  with  it  for  that.  The  linen  is  worth  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  francs  if  it  is  worth  a  sou,  and 
Madame  Avril  is  furious  with  me  for  having  inter- 
fered with  her  bargain." 

"And  this  linen,"  cried  my  uncle,  "you  have 
bought  it,  you  have  bought  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  my  grandmother,  who  did  not  under- 
stand Benjamin's  exasperation.  "And  there  is  no 
getting  out  of  it.  The  peasant  is  downstairs  waiting 
for  his  money." 

"Well,  go  to  the  devil!"  cried  Benjamin,  throw- 
ing the  roll  across  the  room,  "you  and That 

is,  forgive  me,  my  dear  sister,  forgive  me,  no — do 
not  go  to  the  devil.  That's  too  far.  But  go  carry 
the  cloth  back  to  the  peasant.  I  have  no  money  to 
pay  for  it." 

"How  about  the  money  you  received  this  morning 
from  your  client?"  asked  my  grandmother. 

"Lord,  that  money  isn't  mine.  M.  de  Cambyse 
gave  me  too  much." 

"Too  much?  What  do  you  mean?"  answered  my 
grandmother,  looking  at  Benjamin  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Yes,  too  much,  my  sister,  too  much,  do  you  hear 
me,  too  much.  He  sent  me  fifty  crowns  for  a 


158  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

twenty-franc    operation.       Do    you    understand?" 

"And  you  are  stupid  enough  to  send  him  back  his 
money?  If  my  husband  were  to  play  a  trick  like 
that  on  me!" 

"Yes,  I  was  stupid  enough  to  send  him  back  his 
money.  What  do  you  expect?  Everybody  cannot 
have  the  spirit  you  exact  of  Machecourt.  I  was 
stupid  enough  to  send  him  back  his  money,  and  I 
don't  repent  it.  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  charlatan  to 
please  you.  My  God,  my  God!  How  hard  it  is 
to  be  an  honest  man  in  this  world!  Your  nearest 
and  your  dearest  are  always  the  first  to  lead  you 
into  temptation." 

"But  you  wretch,  you  need  everything.  You 
haven't  a  pair  of  silk  stockings  that  are  fit  to  wear, 
and  when  I  mend  your  shirts  on  one  side,  they  fall  to 
pieces  on  the  other." 

"And  because  my  shirts  fall  to  pieces  on  one  side 
when  you  mend  them  on  the  other,  I  am  to  be  dis- 
honest, my  dear  sister,  am  I?" 

"But  your  creditors,  when  will  you  pay 
them?" 

"When  I  have  the  money,  that  is  all.  I  defy  the 
richest  man  to  do  better." 

"And  what  shall  I  tell  the  peasant?" 

"Tell  him  whatever  you  like.  Tell  him  I  don't 
wear  shirts,  or  I  have  three  hundred  dozen  in  my 
closet.  Let  him  choose  the  one  of  the  two  reasons 
that  suits  him  best." 

"Oh,  my  poor  Benjamin,"  said  my  grandmother, 


MY  UNCLE'S  PROPERTY  IS  ATTACHED  159 

carrying  off  the  linen,  "with  all  your  wit  you  will 
never  be  anything  but  an  idiot." 

"Really,"  said  Page,  when  my  grandmother  was 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "your  dear  sister  is  right. 
You  push  honesty  to  the  point  of  stupidity." 

My  uncle  rose,  full  of  fire,  and  grasped  the  law- 
yer's arm  so  hard  in  his  iron  hand  that  he  cried  out 
with  the  pain. 

"Page,  this  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  honesty.  It 
is  noble  and  legitimate  pride.  It  is  respect  not  only 
for  myself,  but  also  for  our  poor  oppressed  class. 
Should  I  let  this  squire  say  he  offered  me  a  sort  of 
tip  and  I  accepted  it?  When  their  escutcheon  is 
nothing  but  a  beggar's  badge,  would  you  have  them 
fling  back  at  us  the  charge  of  beggary  that  we  have 
so  often  made  against  them?  Would  you  give  them 
the  right  to  say  that  we  too  receive  alms  when  they 
are  disposed  to  bestow  them  upon  us?  Listen,  Page, 
you  know  whether  or  not  I  love  Burgundy.  You 
also  know  from  what  my  dear  sister  just  said 
whether  or  not  I  need  shirts.  But  for  all  the  vine- 
yards of  Cote-d'Or  and  all  the  hemp-fields  of  Pays- 
Bas,  I  would  not  want  to  have  to  turn  my  eyes  aside 
from  a  single  other  person's  eyes  in  the  whole  baili- 
wick. No,  I  wouldn't  keep  this  money,  not  even  to 
buy  my  life  with.  It  is  for  us,  men  of  heart  and 
education,  to  do  honour  to  these  people  among  whom 
we  were  born.  Through  us  they  must  learn  that 
one  does  not  have  to  be  a  noble  to  be  a  man,  that 
they  may  rise  through  self-esteem  from  the  degrada- 


160  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

tion  into  which  they  have  fallen,  and  that  they  may 
say  to  the  handful  of  tyrants  who  oppress  them, 
'We  are  as  good  as  you  are,  and  more  numerous. 
Why  should  we  continue  to  be  your  slaves,  and 
why  should  you  wish  to  remain  our  masters?'  Oh, 
Page,  may  I  live  to  see  that  day,  even  if  I  have  to 
drink  poor  wine  the  rest  of  my  life!" 

"All  very  fine,"  said  Page,  "but  it  won't  give  us 
Burgundy." 

"Rest  easy,  drunkard,  you  will  lose  nothing. 
Sunday  I  am  going  to  treat  you  all  to  supper  with 
these  twenty  francs  that  I  extracted  from  M.  de 
Cambyse's  throat,  and  at  dessert  I  will  tell  you  the 
whole  story.  I  am  going  to  write  to  M.  Minxit 
directly.  I  cannot  have  Arthus,  seeing  that  I  have 
only  twenty  francs  to  spend,  or  else  he  will  have 
to  dine  abundantly  that  day.  But  if  you  meet  Rapin, 
Parlanta,  and  the  others  before  I  do,  warn  them  not 
to  make  any  other  engagements." 

I  must  say  at  once  that  this  supper  was  post- 
poned for  a  week  because  M.  Minxit  could  not 
attend,  and  then  was  postponed  indefinitely  because 
my  uncle  was  obliged  to  part  with  his  two  pistoles. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  HUNG  M.  SUSURRANS  TO  A  HOOK  IN 
HIS   KITHCEN 

BEHOLD  the  flowers,  how  wonderfully  fertile  they 
are.  They  scatter  their  seeds  like  rain.  They 
throw  them  to  the  wind  like  dust,  they  send  them 
without  stint,  like  those  alms  that  mount  to  dark 
attics,  up  to  barren  rocky  peaks,  among  the  old  stones 
of  tumbling  walls,  amid  ruins  that  totter  and  fall, 
without  troubling  whether  or  not  they  will  find  a 
handful  of  earth  to  fertilise  them,  a  drop  of  rain 
for  their  roots  to  suck,  a  ray  of  light  to  make  them 
grow,  and  another  ray  to  give  them  colour.  The 
breezes  of  departing  spring  carry  away  the  last  per- 
fumes of  the  meadows,  and  the  earth  is  strewn  with 
fading  leaves;  but  when  the  autumn  breezes  come 
and  shake  their  moist  wings  over  the  fields,  another 
generation  of  flowers  will  have  invested  the  earth 
with  a  new  robe,  and  their  feeble  perfume  will  be 
the  last  breath  of  the  dying  year,  which  in  dying 
smiles  on  us  still. 

In  all  other  respects  women  are  like  flowers.  But 
in  the  matter  of  fecundity  they  are  not  like  flowers 
at  all.  Most  women,  ladies  especially — and  I  beg 


1 62  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

of  you,  my  proletarian  friends  and  brothers,  to  be- 
lieve that  I  use  this  expression  only  to  conform  to 
custom;  to  me  the  truest  lady  is  the  woman  who  is 
the  prettiest  and  the  most  charming — ladies,  I  say, 
bear  children  no  longer.  They  become  mothers  of 
families  as  seldom  as  possible.  They  keep  from 
having  children  for  economy's  sake.  When  the 
clerk's  wife  has  produced  her  little  clerk  and  the 
notary's  wife  her  little  notary,  they  believe  they 
have  fulfilled  their  obligation  to  the  human  race,  and 
abdicate.  Napoleon,  who  had  a  passion  for  con- 
scripts, said  the  woman  he  liked  best  was  the  woman 
who  had  the  most  children.  Easy  for  Napoleon  to 
say  when  he  had  kingdoms  instead  of  estates  to  pass 
on  to  his  children. 

The  fact  is,  children  are  very  expensive,  an  ex- 
pense not  within  everybody's  reach.  The  poor  man 
alone  can  permit  himself  the  luxury  of  a  numerous 
family.  Are  you  aware  that  the  months  required  for 
nursing  a  child  alone  cost  almost  as  much  as  a  cash- 
mere dress?  Besides,  the  baby  grows  fast.  The 
swollen  boarding-school  accounts  and  bills  begin  to 
come  in,  the  shoemaker's  bills  and  the  tailor's.  The 
infant  of  to-day  will  be  a  man  to-morrow.  His 
moustache  appears,  and  there  he  is  a  bachelor  of  let- 
ters. Now  you  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him. 
So,  to  get  rid  of  him  you  buy  him  a  fine  profession. 
But  you  are  not  slow  to  perceive  from  the  drafts 
made  on  you  from  the  four  corners  of  the  city  that 
the  profession  brings  your  doctor  nothing  but  invi- 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    163 

tations  and  visiting  cards.  You  must  keep  him  till 
he  is  past  the  age  of  thirty  in  kid  gloves,  Havana 
cigars,  and  mistresses.  Very  disagreeable,  you 
will  admit.  If  there  were  a  home  for  young 
people  of  twenty,  as  there  is  or,  rather,  no 
longer  is,  for  infants,  I  assure  you  it  would  be 
crowded. 

But  in  my  uncle  Benjamin's  time  things  were  very 
different.  It  was  the  golden  age  of  midwives. 
Women  gave  themselves  up  to  their  instincts  with- 
out worry  or  thought  of  the  consequences.  They 
all  had  children,  rich  and  poor  alike,  even  those 
who  had  no  right  to  have  them.  But  in  those  days 
they  knew  what  to  do  with  the  children.  Competi- 
tion, that  ogre  with  the  steel  fangs  which  devours 
so  many  little  people,  had  not  arrived  yet.  There 
was  a  place  for  everybody  in  the  beautiful  sunshine 
of  France,  and  elbow  room  in  every  profession.  Po- 
sitions presented  themselves  to  men  capable  of 
filling  them  like  fruit  hanging  from  the  branch. 
Even  the  fools  found  situations,  each  according  to 
the  specialty  of  his  folly.  Glory  was  as  easily 
achieved,  as  accommodating  a  maid,  as  fortune.  It 
did  not  take  half  the  wit  it  does  now  to  be  a  man 
of  letters;  a  dozen  Alexandrines  made  a  poet.  I  do 
not  say  I  regret  the  loss  of  that  blind  fertility  of 
old  which  produced  like  a  machine  without  knowing 
what  it  did.  I  find  I  have  enough  neighbours  as 
it  is.  I  simply  wish  to  make  you  understand  how 
it  was  that  at  the  period  of  which  I  speak  my  grand- 


164  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

mother,  although  not  yet  thirty  years  old,  was  already 
at  her  seventh  child. 

My  uncle  absolutely  insisted  on  his  dear  sister's 
being  present  at  his  wedding,  and  he  made  M.  Minxit 
consent  to  postpone  the  event  until  after  my  grand- 
mother's churching.  The  wardrobe  of  the  newcomer 
was  all  white  and  embroidered,  and  his  entrance 
into  existence  was  expected  daily.  The  six  other 
children  were  all  living,  and  all  delighted  to  be  in 
the  world.  Sometimes  one  of  them  was  out  of  shoes, 
another  one  out  of  a  cap.  This  one  had  holes  at  his 
elbows,  and  that  one  was  run  down  at  the  heels. 
But  they  had  their  daily  bread  and  their  white 
starched  shirts  on  Sundays,  and  in  short  kept  wonder- 
fully well  and  blooming  in  their  rags. 

My  father,  the  eldest  child,  was  the  handsomest 
of  the  six  and  the  best  equipped  with  clothes.  That 
may  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  my  uncle  Ben- 
jamin passed  on  to  him  his  old  knee-breeches.  They 
scarcely  needed  any  alteration  and  often  no  altera- 
tion at  all  to  make  them  over  into  pantaloons  for 
Gaspard.  Through  cousin  Guillaumot,  who  was 
sexton,  Gaspard  was  promoted  to  the  dignity  of 
choir  boy,  and,  I  say  it  with  pride,  one  of  the  best 
choir  boys  in  the  diocese.  Had  he  stuck  to  the  career 
that  cousin  Guillaumot  started  him  on,  he  would  have 
made  a  magnificent  priest,  instead  of  the  handsome 
captain  of  a  fire  company  that  he  is  to-day.  It  is 
true  I  should  still  be  sleeping  in  the  void,  as  the  good 
M.  de  Lamartine  says,  who  himself  goes  to  sleep 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    165 

sometimes.  But  sleep  is  an  excellent  thing.  Be- 
sides, to  be  the  editor  of  a  country  newspaper  and 
the  antagonist  of  the  department  of  public  intelli- 
gence, is  that  worth  the  trouble  of  living? 

However  that  may  be,  his  Levitical  functions 
brought  my  father  a  superb  sky-blue  suit.  This  is 
how  the  good  fortune  befell  him.  The  banner  of 
Saint  Martin,  patron  saint  of  Clamecy,  had  been  dis- 
carded. My  grandmother,  with  that  eagle  eye  of 
hers,  discovered  in  this  holy  stuff  the  wherewithal 
to  make  her  eldest  son  a  jacket  and  a  pair  of  panta- 
loons, and  succeeded  in  securing  the  cast-off  banner 
from  the  church  treasury  at  a  ridiculous  price.  The 
saint  was  painted  in  the  very  middle,  represented 
in  the  act  of  cutting  off  an  end  of  his  cloak  with  his 
sabre  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  a  beggar.  That 
was  no  obstacle  to  my  grandmother's  plan.  She 
turned  the  material,  and  Saint  Martin  came  on  the 
inside ;  which  doubtless  did  not  trouble  the  saint. 

The  coat  was  finished  off  by  a  seamstress  in  the 
Rue  des  Moulins.  It  would  have  fitted  my  uncle 
Benjamin,  perhaps,  quite  as  well  as  my  father.  My 
grandmother  had  had  it  made  with  enough  goods  to 
make  it  over  for  the  second  son  after  the  first  son 
had  worn  it  out.  At  first  my  father  paraded  his 
sky-blue  coat.  I  even  believe  he  contributed  to  pay 
for  the  making  out  of  his  wages.  But  he  was  not 
slow  to  find  out  that  a  magnificent  robe  is  often  a 
garment  of  sack-cloth.  Benjamin,  to  whom  nothing 
was  sacred,  nicknamed  him  the  patron  saint  of 


1 66  -MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Clamecy.  The  children  picked  up  the  nickname,  and 
it  cost  my  father  many  a  blow.  More  than  once 
he  came  home  with  a  piece  of  the  sky-blue  coat  in 
his  pocket.  Saint  Martin  became  his  personal 
enemy.  He  was  often  to  be  seen  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar  plunged  in  gloomy  meditation.  Of  what  was 
he  dreaming?  Of  how  to  get  rid  of  his  coat.  And 
one  day,  while  the  priest  was  saying  the  Dominus 
vobiscum,  he  responded,  thinking  he  was  talking  to 
his  mother: 

"I  tell  you,  I  will  never  wear  your  sky-blue  coat 
again." 

It  was  while  my  father  was  in  this  state  of  mind 
that  my  uncle,  the  Sunday  after  high  mass,  sug- 
gested his  going  along  with  him  to  Val-des-Rosiers, 
where  he  had  a  visit  to  pay.  Gaspard  preferred 
playing  with  corks  in  the  street  to  serving  as  aid  to 
my  uncle  and  answered  he  could  not  because  he  had 
a  baptism  to  attend. 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Benjamin.  "Some- 
body else  will  take  your  place." 

"Yes,  but  I  must  go  to  catechism  at  one  o'clock." 

"I  thought  you  had  had  your  first  communion." 

"I  came  near  having  it,  but  you  yourself  pre- 
vented me  by  making  me  get  drunk  the  night  before 
the  ceremony." 

"Why  did  vou  get  drunk?" 

"Because  you  were  drunk  yourself  and  threatened 
to  beat  me  with  the  flat  of  your  sword  if  I  did  not 
get  drunk  too." 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    167 

"I  was  wrong,"  said  Benjamin.  "All  the  same 
you  risk  nothing  by  coming  along  with  me.  I  shall 
be  only  a  moment.  We  will  return  before  rate- 
chism." 

"Of  course !"  answered  Gaspard.  "When  it 
would  take  someone  else  only  an  hour,  it  takes  you 
half  a  day.  You  stop  at  all  the  taverns,  and  the" 
priest  forbade  me  to  go  with  you  because  you  set  me 
a  bad  example." 

"Well,  pious  Gaspard,  if  you  refuse  to  come  with 
me,  I  wrill  not  invite  you  to  my  wedding.  But  if 
you  do  me  this  favour,  I  will  give  you  twelve  sous." 

"Give  them  to  me  now,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Why  must  you  have  them  immediately,  you 
scamp?  Do  you  doubt  my  word?" 

"No,  but  I  am  not  anxious  to  be  your  creditor.  I 
have  heard  it  said  in  the  village  that  you  never  pay 
anybody,  and  there's  no  use  seizing  your  effects  be- 
cause your  effects  are  not  worth  thirty  sous." 

"Well  said,  Gaspard.  Here  are  fifteen  sous,  go 
tell  my  dear  sister  you  are  coming  along  with  me." 

My  grandmother  went  all  the  way  to  the  door 
with  Gaspard  admonishing  him  to  be  very  careful 
with  his  coat,  as  he  must  keep  it  for  his  uncle's 
wedding. 

"Are  you  joking?"  said  Benjamin.  "Is  there  any 
need  of  telling  a  French  choir  boy  to  be  careful 
with  the  banner  of  his  patron  saint?" 

"Uncle,"  said  Gaspard,  "before  we  start  I  warn 
you  that  if  you  call  me  banner-bearer  again,  or  blue 


i68  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

bird,  or  patron  saint  of  Clamecy,  I  will  run  away 
with  your  fifteen  sous,  and  go  back  to  play  corks." 

On  entering  the  village  my  uncle  met  M.  Susur- 
rans,  the  grocer,  a  very  short,  very  thin  little  man, 
who  seemed  to  be  made  out  of  charcoal  and  salt- 
petre, like  gunpowder.  M.  Susurrans  had  a  sort 
of  small  farm  at  Val-des-Rosiers.  He  was  on  his 
way  back  to  Clamecy,  carrying  under  his  arm  a  keg 
that  he  hoped  to  smuggle  in,  and  at  the  end  of  his 
cane  a  pair  of  capons  that  Madame  Susurrans  was 
waiting  for  to  put  on  the  spit.  M.  Susurrans  knew 
my  uncle  and  esteemed  him,  for  Benjamin  bought 
the  sugar  of  him  with  which  he  sweetened  his  drugs 
and  the  powder  he  put  on  his  queue.  So  M.  Susur- 
rans asked  him  to  come  to  the  farm  and  take  some 
refreshment.  My  uncle,  whose  normal  condition 
was  thirst,  accepted  without  ceremony.  The  grocer 
and  his  customer  established  themselves  at  the  corner 
of  the  fire,  each  on  a  stool.  They  placed  the  keg 
between  them.  But  they  did  not  allow  its  contents 
to  turn  sour,  and  when  it  was  not  in  the  hands  of 
one,  it  was  at  the  lips  of  the  other. 

"Appetite  comes  by  drinking  as  well  as  by  eating. 
Suppose  we  eat  the  chickens?"  said  M.  Susurrans. 

"Right  you  are,"  answered  my  uncle,  "it  will  save 
you  the  trouble  of  carrying  them  home.  I  don't 
understand  how  you  could  ever  have  thought  of 
loading  yourself  down  with  such  a  burden." 

"And  what  sauce  shall  we  eat  them  with?" 

"With  that  which  can  be  made  the  quickest,"  said 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    169 

Benjamin.  "Here  is  an  excellent  fire  to  roast  them 
on,  too." 

"Yes,"  said  M.  Susurrans,  "but  there  are  no 
kitchen  utensils  here  except  for  making  an  onion 
soup.  We  have  no  spit." 

Benjamin,  like  all  great  men,  was  never  caught 
unprepared  in  any  situation. 

"It  shall  never  be  said,"  he  answered,  "that  two 
intelligent  men  like  ourselves  were  unable  to  eat  a 
roasted  fowl  for  want  of  a  spit.  If  you  take  my 
advice,  we  will  spit  our  chickens  on  the  blade  of  my 
sword,  and  Gaspard  here  will  turn  them  over  the 
fire." 

You  would  never  have  thought  of  this  expedient, 
dear  reader,  but  my  uncle  had  imagination  enough 
for  ten  present-day  novelists. 

Gaspard,  who  did  not  often  get  chicken  to  eat, 
went  at  his  task  with  a  will,  and  in  an  hour's  time 
the  fowls  were  roasted  to  a  turn.  They  set  a  wash- 
tub  upside-down  before  the  fire  for  a  table,  and  so 
did  not  have  to  leave  their  seats.  They  had  no 
glasses,  but  the  keg  was  not  left  idle  on  that  account. 
They  drank  out  of  the  bunghole,  as  in  the  days  of 
Homer.  It  was  not  very  convenient,  but  my  uncle 
was  such  a  stoic  that  he  would  rather  drink  good 
wine  that  way  than  bad  wine  out  of  crystal  glasses. 
In  spite  of  the  various  difficulties  that  the  operation 
involved,  the  chickens  were  soon  despatched.  For 
some  time  the  unfortunate  birds  had  been  nothing 
more  than  bare  skeletons  and  still  the  two  friends 


170  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

kept  on  drinking.  M.  Susurrans,  a  very  small  man, 
as  we  have  said,  whose  stomach  and  brain  almost 
touched  each  other,  was  as  drunk  as  one  can  be. 
But  Benjamin,  the  tall  Benjamin,  had  preserved  the 
major  part  of  his  reason,  and  looked  on  his  weaker 
adversary  with  pity.  As  for  Gaspard,  to  whom  they 
had  occasionally  passed  the  keg,  he  went  a  little 
beyond  the  limits  of  temperance.  Filial  respect  does 
not  allow  me  to  use  another  expression. 

Such  was  the  spiritual  situation  of  the  party  when 
they  left  the  wash-tub.  It  was  then  four  o'clock,  and 
they  began  to  get  ready  to  start.  M.  Susurrans  re- 
membered he  was  to  carry  some  chickens  home  to 
his  wife  and  looked  about  for  them  to  put  them  on 
the  end  of  his  cane,  and  asked  my  uncle  if  he  had 
not  seen  them. 

"Your  chickens?"  said  Benjamin.  "Are  you  jok- 
ing? You  have  just  eaten  them." 

"Yes,  you  old  fool,"  added  Gaspard,  "you  have 
eaten  them.  They  were  spitted  on  my  uncle's  sword, 
and  I  turned  the  spit." 

"It's  not  true,"  cried  M.  Susurrans.  "If  I  had 
eaten  my  chickens,  I  should  not  have  such  an  appe- 
tite, and  I  am  hungry  enough  to  devour  a  wolf." 

"I  don't  deny  it,"  replied  my  uncle,  "but  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  you  have  eaten  your  chickens. 
If  you  doubt  it,  here  are  the  tones  of  both  of  them. 
You  can  hang  them  to  the  end  of  your  cane  if  you 
like." 

"You  are  lying,  Benjamin.    I  don't  recognise  them 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    1 7 1 

as~  the  bones  of  my  chickens.  It's  you  who  have 
taken  them  from  me,  and  you  shall  return  them 
to  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  "send  to  look  for 
them  at  my  house  to-morrow,  .and  I'll  return  them 
to  you." 

"You  shall  return  them  to  me  at  once,"  said  M. 
Susurrans,  rising  on  tip-toe  to  grab  my  uncle  by  the 
throat. 

"Now,  now,  papa  Susurrans !"  said  Benjamin. 
"If  you  are  joking,  I  warn  you  that  you  are  carry- 
ing the  joke  too  far,  and " 

"No,  you  wretch,  I  am  not  joking,"  said  M. 
Susurrans,  planting  himself  in  front  of  the  door. 
"You  shall  not  leave  here,  neither  you  nor  your 
nephew,  till  you  have  given  me  back  my  chick- 
ens." 

"Uncle,"  said  Gaspard,  "would  you  like  me  to  trip 
up  the  old  imbecile?" 

"Never  mind,  Gaspard,  never  mind,  my  friend," 
said  Benjamin.  "You  are  a  churchman,  and  it  is 
not  seemly  for  you  to  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  quarrel. 
Now,  then,  M.  Susurrans,  one,  two,  will  you  let  us 
out?" 

"When  you  have  given  me  my  chickens  back 
again,"  answered  M.  Susurrans,  making  a  half  turn 
to  the  left  and  thrusting  his  cane  at  my  uncle  like  a 
bayonet. 

Benjamin  caught  the  cane,  lowered  it,  took  the 
little  man  by  the  middle  of  the  body,  and  hung  him 


172  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

by  the  waistband  to  an  iron  rod  over  the  door  used 
to  hang  kitchen  utensils  on. 

Susurrans,  hanging  like  a  saucepan,  behaved  like 
a  beetle  pinned  to  the  floor.  He  screamed  and 
kicked  and  cried  "Fire!  Murder  P' 

My  uncle  caught  sight  of  a  Liege  almanac  lying 
on  the  mantel-shelf. 

"Here,  Monsieur  Susurrans.  Cicero  says  study 
is  a  consolation  in  all  situations  in  life.  Content 
yourself  with  studying  this  book  until  someone  comes 
to  take  you  down.  For  I  have  no  time  to  carry  on 
a  conversation  with  you,  and  I  have  the  honour  to 
wish  you  good  evening." 

My  uncle  had  gone  only  twenty  steps  when  he 
met  the  farmer,  who  came  running  at  full  speed  and 
asked  why  his  master  was  crying  "Fire!  Murder!" 

"The  house  is  probably  burning  and  someone  is 
trying  to  kill  your  master,"  answered  my  uncle  with 
perfect  composure.  He  whistled  to  Gaspard,  who 
was  lingering  behind,  and  continued  on  his  way. 

The  weather  had  grown  milder.  The  sky,  shortly 
before  so  bright,  had  turned  drab-colour,  like  a  plas- 
ter ceiling  before  it  dries.  A  fine,  close,  piercing 
rain  was  falling  and  streamed  in  little  drops  from 
the  stripped  branches,  making  the  trees  and  bushes 
look  as  though  they  were  crying. 

My  uncle's  hat  soaked  up  the  rain  like  a  sponge, 
and  soon  its  two  corners  became  two  spouts  from 
which  black  water  poured  upon  his  shoulders.  Con- 
cerned for  his  coat,  he  turned  it  inside  out,  and  re- 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    173 

membering  his  sister's  injunction,  ordered  Gaspard 
to  do  the  -same.  Gaspard  heeded  the  injunction, 
forgetting  Saint  Martin. 

A  little  farther  on,  Benjamin  and  Gaspard  met 
a  troop  of  peasants  returning  from  vespers.  At 
sight  of  the  saint  on  Gaspard's  coat,  head  down- 
most  and  all  four  of  his  horse's  hoofs  in  the  air, 
as  if  he  had  fallen  down  from  the  sky,  the  peasants 
burst  out  laughing  and  making  fun.  You  know  my 
uncle  well  enough  to  know  he  would  not  allow  fel- 
lows like  that  to  make  sport  of  him  with  impunity. 
He  drew  his  sword,  while  Gaspard  armed  himself 
with  stones  and  led  the  attack,  carried  away  by  his 
ardour.  Then  my  uncle  saw  that  Saint  Martin  was 
the  only  one  to  blame,  and  he  was  seized  with  such  a 
fit  of  laughter  that  he  was  obliged  to  lean  on  his 
sword  to  keep  from  falling. 

"Gaspard,"  he  cried,  in  a  choking  voice,  "patron 
saint  of  Clamecy,  your  saint  is  up'side  down,  your 
saint  is  losing  his  helmet." 

Gaspard,  seeing  he  was  the  object  of  all  this  mirth, 
could  not  endure  the  humiliation.  He  tore  off  his 
coat,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and  trampled  on  it. 
When  my  uncle  had  finished  laughing,  he  tried  to 
make  him  pick  it  up  and  put  it  on  again.  But  Gas- 
pard dashed  off  across  the  fields,  and  was  seen  no 
more.  Benjamin  picked  up  the  coat  in  pity  and  put 
it  on  the  end  of  his  sword. 

In  the  meantime  M.  Susurrans  had  come  up. 
JHle  .had  sobered  off  a  little  and  now  remembered 


i74  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

quite  distinctly  that  he  had  eaten  his  chickens  up. 
But  he  had  lost  his  three-cornered  hat.  •  Benjamin, 
who  was  much  amused  by  the  little  man's  outbursts 
of  anger  and  liked  to  see  him  get  heated  up, 
maintained  he  had  eaten  his  hat.  Susurrans  had 
acquired  such  respect  for  Benjamin's  physical 
strength  that  he  did  not  dare  take  offence.  He  even 
was  so  contrary  as  to  apologise  to  my  uncle. 

Benjamin  and  M.  Susurrans  returned  to  Clamecy 
together.  At  the  otusk'irts  of  the  town  they  met 
lawyer  Page. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked  my  uncle. 

"You  might  imagine.  I  am  going  to  my  dear 
sister's  for  supper." 

"No,  you  are  not,"  said  Page.  "You  are  going 
to  have  supper  with  me  at  the  Hotel  du 
Dauphin." 

"And  if  I  should  accept,  to  what  circumstance 
would  I  owe  the  privilege?" 

"I  will  explain  in  a  word.  A  wealthy  lumber 
merchant  of  Paris,  for  whom  I  won  an  important 
case,  has  invited  me  to  dine  with  his  attorney,  whom 
he  does  not  know.  It  is  carnival  time.  So  I  de- 
cided you  were  to  be  his  attorney,  and  I  was  on  my 
way  to  tell  you.  It  is  an  adventure  worthy  of  us, 
Benjamin,  and  I  feel  sure  I  did  not  overestimate 
your  passion  for  merry  pranks  when  I  counted  on 
your  doing  this." 

"A  well-conceived  masquerade,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Benjamin.  "But  I  don't  know,"  he  added,  laugh- 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    1 75 

ing,  "whether  honour  and  delicacy  will  permit  me 
to  play  the  part  of  the  attorney." 

"At  table,"  said  Page,  "the  most  honourable  man 
is  the  man  who  most  conscientiously  empties  his 
glass." 

"True,  but  suppose  your  lumber  merchant  should 
talk  to  me  about  his  case?" 

"I  will  answer  for  you." 

"And  suppose  he  should  take  it  into  his  head  to 
pay  a  visit  to  his  attorney  to-morrow?" 

"I  will  bring  him  to  you." 

"All  very  fine,  but  I  don't  look  like  an  attorney, 
at  least  so  I  flatter  myself." 

"You'll  succeed  in  making  your  looks  fit.  You 
once  passed  yourself  off  for  the  Wandering  Jew." 

"And  my  red  coat?" 

"The  man  is  a  gull  from  Paris.  We'll  tell  him 
that  in  the  provinces  attorneys  wear  red  coats." 

"And  my  sword?" 

"If  he  notices  it,  tell  him  you  use  it  to  cut  your 
pens  with." 

"But  who  actually  is  your  lumberman's  attorney?" 

"Dulciter.  You  won't  be  so  inhuman  as  to  let  me 
dine  with  Dulciter?" 

"I  know  Dulciter  isn't  very  entertaining,  but  if 
ever  he  finds  out  that  I  dined  in  his  place,  he  would 
sue  me  for  damages." 

"I  will  defend  you  in  court.  Come,  I  am  sure 
dinner  is  ready.  But  wait  a  moment!  Our  host 
asked  me  to  bring  Dulciter's  head  clerk  along. 


176  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Where  the  devil  am  I  to  find  a  clerk  for  Dul- 
citer?" 

Benjamin  ha-ha'd  and  clapped  his  hands. 

"I  have  it!  Here,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on 
M.  Susurrans'  shoulder,  "here  is  your  clerk." 

"Bosh,"  said  Page,  "a  green-grocer?" 

"What  difference  does  that  make?" 

"He  smells  of  cheese." 

"You  are  not  a  connoisseur,  Page.  He  smells  of 
candles." 

"But  he  is  sixty  years  old." 

"We  will  introduce  him  as  the  elder  of  the  guild 
of  clerks." 

"You  are  knaves,  blackguards!"  said  M.  Susur- 
rans in  a  fury.  "I  am  not  a  bandit!  I  am  not  a 
fellow  who  runs  from  tavern  to  tavern." 

"No,"  interrupted  my  uncle.  "He  gets  drunk 
by  himself  in  his  cellar." 

"Possibly,  Monsieur  Rathery.  At  any  rate  I  don't 
get  drunk  at  other  people's  expense,  and  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  your  rascalities." 

"But  you  will  this  evening,"  said  my  uncle.  "If 
you  don't  I'll  tell  everybody  where  I  hung  you." 

"Where  did  you  hang  him?"  asked  Page. 

"Guess "  said  Benjamin. 

"Monsieur  Rathery!"  cried  Susurrans,  putting  his 
finger  on  his  mouth. 

"Well,  are  you  ready  to  come  along  with  us?" 

"But,  Monsieur  Rathery,  my  wife  is  waiting  for 
me.  They  will  think  me  dead,  murdered.  They 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    177 

will  search  for  me  along  the  road  as  far  as  Val-des- 
Rosiers." 

"So  much  the  better.  Perhaps  they'll  find  your 
hat." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,  my  good  Monsieur  Ra- 
thery!"  pleaded  Susurrans,  clasping  his  hands. 

"Now,  now,"  said  my  uncle,  "don't  be  so  child- 
ish !  You  owe  me  satisfaction,  and  I  owe  you  a 
dinner.  At  one  stroke  we  shall  be  quits." 

"At  least  let  me  go  tell  my  wife." 

"No,"  said  Benjamin,  placing  himself  between 
him  and  Page.  "I  know  Madame  Susurrans  from 
behind  her  counter.  She  would  lock  you  in  and  turn 
the  key  twice,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  escape  us. 
I  wouldn't  give  you  up  for  ten  pistoles." 

"And  my  keg,"  said  Susurrans,  "what  am  I  to  do 
with  my  keg  now  that  I  am  an  attorney's  clerk?'' 

"You're  right,"  said  Benjamin,  "you  cannot  pre- 
sent yourself  to  our  client  with  a  keg." 

They  were  then  in  the  middle  of  the  Beuvron 
bridge.  My  uncle  took  the  keg  from  the  hands  of 
Susurrans  and  threw  it  into  the  river. 

"Rathery,  you  rascal!  Rathery,  you  scoundrel!" 
cried  Susurrans.  "You  shall  pay  me  for  my  keg. 
Six  francs  it  cost  me.  You  shall  find  out  what  it  will 
cost  you." 

"M.  Susurrans,"  said  Benjamin,  assuming  a  lofty 
mien,  "let  us  follow  the  example  of  the  sage  who 
said,  Omnia  me  cum  porto,  that  is,  everything  that 
is  a  burden  to  me  I  throw  into  the  river.  See,  here 


178  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

at  the  end  of  my  sword  is  a  magnificent  coat,  my 
nephew's  Sunday  coat,  a  museum  piece.  The  mak- 
ing of  it  alone  costs  thirty  times  as  much  as  your 
miserable  keg.  Well,  I  sacrifice  it  without  the  slight- 
est regret.  Throw  it  over  the  bridge,  and  we  shall 
be  quits." 

M.  Susurrans  objecting,  Benjamin  himself  threw 
the  coat  over  the  bridge,  then  took  Page  and  Susur- 
rans each  by  the  arm,  and  said: 

"Now  let  us  be  off.  Raise  the  curtain.  The  play 
is  on." 

But  man  proposes  and  God  disposes.  As  they 
were  going  up  the  steps  of  Vieille-Rome,  they  met 
Madame  Susurrans  face  to  face.  As  her  husband 
had  not  yet  returned,  she  had  started  out  to  meet 
him  with  a  lantern.  When  she  caught  sight  of  him 
between  my  uncle  and  lawyer  Page,  both  men  of  a 
suspicious  reputation,  her  anxiety  turned  into  anger. 

"At  last,  here  you  are!"  she  cried.  "How  fortu- 
nate I  I  was  beginning  to  think  you  were  not  com- 
ing home  at  all  to-night.  A  nice  life  you  are  lead- 
ing! A  fine  example  to  your  son!" 

Then,  looking  at  her  husband  closer,  she  saw  he 
was  empty-handed  and  hatless. 

"Where  are  your  chickens,  Monsieur!  And  your 
hat,  wretch  !  And  your  keg,  drunkard !  What  have 
you  done  with  them?" 

"Madame,"  responded  Benjamin,  gravely,  "we 
ate  the  chickens,  and  as  for  his  hat,  he  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  it  on  the  way."'5 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    1 79 

"What,  the  monster  lost  his  hat!  A  freshly- 
blocked  hat!" 

"Yes,  Madame,  he  lost  it,  and  he  is  to  be  con- 
gratulated, considering  the  position  he  was  in,  that 
he  didn't  lose  his  wig,  too.  As  for  the  keg,  the 
customs  officials  seized  it,  and  have  reported  the 
offence." 

Page  could  not  help  laughing,  and  Mme.  Susur- 
rans  said: 

"I  see.  You  made  my  husband  drunk,  and  are 
now  making  fun  of  us  into  the  bargain.  You  would 
do  better,  Monsieur  Rathery,  attending  to  your  pa- 
tients and  paying  your  debts." 

"Do  I  owe  you  anything,  Madame?"  replied  my 
uncle,  proudly. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  broke  in  Susurrans,  feeling  strong 
under  his  wife's  protection,  "he  made  me  get  drunk, 
and  he  and  his  nephew  ate  my  chickens.  They  took 
away  my  hat  and  threw  my  keg  into  the  river,  and 
now  the  blackguard  wants  to  force  me  to  dine  with 
him  at  the  Dauphin  and,  at  my  age,  play  the  part  of 
an  attorney's  clerk." 

"That  will  do!  I  will  go  directly  and  tell  M. 
Dulciter  that  you  intend  to  take  his  and  his  clerk's 
place  at  dinner." 

"You  see,  Madame,"  said  my  uncle,  "your  hus- 
band is  drunk.  He  doesn't  know  what  he  is  talking 
about.  If  you  take  my  advice,  put  him  to  bed  the 
minute  you  reach  home,  and  give  him  some  camomile 
tea  every  two  hours.  While  holding  him  up  before, 


i8o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

I  had  the  chance  to  feel  his  pulse,  and  I  assure  you, 
he  is  not  at  all  well." 

"Oh,  you  rascal,  you  blackguard,  you  revolu- 
tionist! You  dare  to  tell  my  wife  I  am  sick  from 
having  drunk  too  much,  while  you  yourself  are 
drunk!  Wait,  I  am  going  to  Dulciter's  this  instant, 
and  you  will  hear  from  him  directly." 

"Madame,"  said  Page,  with  the  utmost  sang- 
froid, "you  can't  help  seeing  that  this  man  is  talking 
wildly.  You  would  be  untrue  to  your  wifely  duties 
if  you  would  not  make  your  husband  take  camomile 
tea,  according  to  M.  Rathery's  orescription.  He 
certainly  is  the  most  skilful  doctor  in  the  bailiwick, 
and  he  rewards  this  madman  for  his  insults  by  saving 
his  life." 

Susurrans  was  about  to  renew  his  asseverations. 

"That  will  do,"  his  wife  said  to  him,  "I  see  these 
gentlemen  are  right.  You  are  so  drunk  you  cannot 
talk  properly.  Come  with  me  right  off,  or  I  will 
lock  you  out,  and  you  may  sleep  wherever  you  can." 

"That's  right,"  said  Page  and  my  uncle  simulta- 
neously, and  they  were  still  laughing  when  they 
reached  the  Dauphin.  The  first  person  they  met  in 
the  yarcJ  was  M.  Minxit,  who  was  just  mounting 
his  horse  ready  to  return  to  Corvol. 

"By  God,"  said  my  uncle,  seizing  his  horse's 
bridle,  "you  shall  not  go  home  to-night,  Monsieur 
Minxit.  You  are  going  to  dine  with  us.  We  have 
lost  one  table  companion,  but  you  are  worth  thirty 
of  him." 


M.  SUSURRANS  IS  HUNG  TO  A  HOOK    1 8 1 

"If  it  pleases  you,  Benjamin.  Hostler,  take  my 
horse  back  to  the  stable,  and  tell  them  to  keep  a  bed 
for  me." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  SPENT  THE  NIGHT  IN  PRAYER  FOR 
HIS  SISTER'S  SAFE  DELIVERY 

MY  time  is  precious,  dear  readers,  and  I  suppose 
yours  is,  too.  So  I  shall  not  amuse  myself  by  de- 
scribing this  memorable  supper.  You  ^know  the 
guests  well  enough  to  form  an  idea  of  how  things 
went. 

My  uncle  left  the  Hotel  du  Dauphin  at  midnight, 
advancing  three  steps  and  retreating  two,  like  some 
pilgrims  of  old  who  vowed  to  go  to  Jerusalem  at  that 
pace.  On  entering  the  house,  he  saw  a  light  in 
Machecourt's  room,  and  thinking  that  his  brother- 
in-law  was  scribbling  off  some  writ,  he  went  in  to 
bid  him  good-night.  My  grandmother  was  in  the 
pains  of  child-birth.  The  midwife,  frightened  at  my 
uncle's  unexpected  appearance  at  that  hour,  went  to 
notify  him  officially  of  the  event  that  was  about  to 
take  place.  Benjamin  remembered  through  the 
mists  that  obscured  his  brain  that  in  the  first  year 
of  her  marriage  his  sister  had  had  a  very  painful 
delivery  which  endangered  her  life.  Immediately 
he  dissolved  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

"Alas,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  waken 
182 


(}lath&nj  at 
arid  how  he,  "drink* 


the  entire  Rue  des  Moulins,  "my  dear  sister  is  going 
to  die.    Alas !  She  is  going  to " 

"Madame  Lalande,"  cried  my  grandmother  from 
her  bed,  "put  that  drunken  dog  out." 

"Please  go  out,  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  Madame 
Lalande.  "There  is  not  the  slightest  danger.  The 
child  is  coming  head  first,  and  in  an  hour  your  sister 
will  be  delivered." 

But  Benjamin  kept  on  crying,  "Alas,  my  dear 
sister  is  going  to  die." 

Machecourt,  seeing  the  midwife's  remarks  had 
had  no  effect,  thought  it  his  duty  to  intervene. 

"Yes,  Benjamin,  my  friend,  my  brother,  the  child 
is  coming  head  first.  Do  me  the  favour  and  go  to 
bed,  please." 

So  spoke  my  grandfather. 

"And  you,  Machecourt,  my  friend,  my  brother," 
answered  my  uncle,  "please,  do  me  the  favour  and 
go- 

My  grandmother,  realising  she  could  not  count 
on  Machecourt  to  take  any  determined  step  with 
Benjamin,  decided  to  put  him  out  doors  herself. 

With  lamblike  docility  my  uncle  suffered  himself 
to  be  pushed  outside.  His  mind  was  soon  made  up. 
He  would  spend  the  night  with  Page,  who  was 
snoring  like  a  blacksmith's  bellows  on  one  of  the 
tables  at  the  Dauphin.  But  in  passing  the  church, 
it  occurred  to  him  to  pray  to  God  for  his  dear  sister's 
safe  delivery.  The  weather  had  grown  very  cold 
again,  and  the  temperature  was  five  or  six  degrees 


i84  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

below  freezing  point.  Paying  no  attention  to  the 
cold,  Benjamin  knelt  on  the  church  steps,  folded  his 
hands  as  he  had  seen  them  do  at  his  dear  sister's,  and 
began  to  murmur  fragments  of  prayers.  On  begin- 
ning his  second  Ave,  sleep  overcame  him,  and  he 
began  to  snore  like  his  friend  Page. 

The  next  morning  at  five  o'clock,  when  the  sexton 
came  to  ring  the  Angelus,  he  saw  something  like  a 
human  form  on  its  knees.  At  first,  in  his  simplicity, 
he  thought  it  was  a  saint  who  had  left  his  niche  to 
do  penance.  And  he  was  about  to  carry  him  back 
into  the  church  when  by  the  light  of  his  lantern, 
on  coming  nearer,  he  saw  it  was  my  uncle  with  an 
inch  of  ice  on  his  back  and  an  icicle  half  a  yard  long 
hanging  from  his  nose. 

"Hello,  Monsieur  Rathery!  Hello!"  he  shouted 
in  Benjamin's  ear. 

My  uncle  did  not  answer,  and  the  sexton  pro- 
ceeded calmly  to  ring  the  Angelus.  It  was  not  until 
he  had  quite  finished  that  he  returned  to  M.  Rathery. 
In  case  there  should  still  be  some  life  left,  he  lifted 
him  to  his  shoulders  like  a  sack  and  carried  him  to 
his  sister's.  My  grandmother  had  already  been 
delivered  two  good  hours,  so  the  neighbours  who 
had  spent  the  night  with  her  could  turn  their  atten- 
tion to  Benjamin.  They  placed  him  on  a  mat- 
tress before  the  hearth,  wrapped  him  in  warm  cover- 
ings, and  put  a  hot  brick  at  his  feet.  In  their 
zeal,  they  would  have  prepared  to  put  him  in  the 
oven.  Gradually  my  uncle  thawed  out.  His  queue, 


MY  UNCLE  SPENDS  NIGHT  IN  PRAYER  185 

which  had  been  as  stiff  as  his  sword,  began  to  weep 
on  the  bolster,  his  joints  relaxed,  his  speech  returned 
and  the  first  use  he  made  of  it  was  to  call  for 
mulled  wine.  They  quickly  made  him  a  whole  ket- 
tlerul.  When  he  had  drunk  half  of  it,  he  fell  into 
such  a  sweat  that  they  thought  he  was  going  to  turn 
into  fluid.  He  swallowed  the  rest  of  the  mulled 
wine,  went  to  sleep  again,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning  was  fresh  and  well.  Had  the  priest 
made  an  official  report  of  these  facts,  my  uncle  would 
surely  have  been  canonised.  They  probably  would 
have  made  him  patron  saint  of  the  hosts  of  the 
inns.  And,  without  flattering  him,  he  would  certainly 
have  made  a  magnificent  sign  for  an  inn,  with  his 
queue  and  his  red  coat. 

More  than  a  week  had  passed  since  my  grand- 
mother's delivery,  and  she  was  already  thinking  of 
her  churching.  This  sort  of  quarantine  imposed  by 
the  canons  of  the  church  resulted  in  serious  incon- 
veniences to  the  whole  family  in  general,  and  to 
her  in  particular.  In  the  first  place,  when  any 
important  event,  a  shocking  bit  of  scandal,  for  in- 
stance, ruffled  the  smooth  surface  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, she  could  not  gossip  with  her  neighbours  in 
the  Rue  des  Moulins,  which  was  a  cruel  privation. 
Moreover,  she  was  obliged  to  send  Gaspard  to  the 
market  and  the  butchers  wrapped  in  a  kitchen- 
apron,  and  Gaspard  either  lost  the  money  playing 
corks,  or  brought  home  a  piece  of  neck  instead  of  a 
leg.  Or,  if  he  was  sent  for  a  cabbage  for  the  soup, 


1 86  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

he  did  not  return  until  after  the  soup  had  been  made 
with  something  else.  Benjamin  would  laugh,  Mache- 
court  would  swear,  and  my  grandmother  would  give 
Gaspard  a  whipping. 

One  day,  irritated  because  he  had  to  eat  a  calf's 
head  without  onions  on  account  of  Gaspard's  tardi- 
ness, my  grandfather  said  to  my  grandmother: 

"Why  don't  you  do  the  marketing  yourself?" 

"Why!  Why!"  replied  my  grandmother.  "Be- 
cause I  cannot  go  to  mass  until  Mme.  Lalande  has 
been  paid." 

"Why  the  devil,  dear  sister,  didn't  you  wait  with 
your  confinement  till  you  had  some  money?" 

"Ask  your  simpleton  brother-in-law  why  he  has 
not  brought  me  a  miserable  six-franc  piece  for  a 
month." 

"That  is  to  say,  if  you  were  not  to  get  any  money 
for  six  months,  you  would  remain  shut  up  at  home 
as  in  quarantine  for  that  length  of  time?"  asked 
Benjamin. 

"Of  course,"  replied  my  grandmother,  "because 
if  I  were  to  go  out  before  having  been  to  mass,  the 
priest  would  talk  against  me  from  the  pulpit  and 
the  people  would  point  their  fingers  at  me  in  the 
streets." 

"Then  tell  the  priest  to  send  you  his  housekeeper 
to  keep  house  for  you.  God  is  too  just  to  require 
Machecourt  to  eat  calf's  head  without  onions  simply 
because  you  presented  him  with  a  seventh  child." 

Fortunately    that    six-franc    piece    so     ardently 


MY  UNCLE  SPENDS  NIGHT  IN  PRAYER  187 

craved  came  in  the  company  of  a  few  others,  and 
my  grandmother  was  able  to  go  to  mass. 

On  returning  home  with  Mme.  Lalande,  she  found 
my  uncle  stretched  out  in  Machecourt's  leather  arm- 
chair, his  heels  resting  on  the  andirons  and  a  bowl 
of  mulled  wine  next  to  him.  For  I  must  tell  you  that 
ever  since  his  recovery,  Benjamin,  out  of  gratitude 
to  the  mulled  wine  that  had  saved  his  life,  took 
enough  of  it  every  morning  to  satisfy  two  sea  cap- 
tains. To  justify  this  additional  feat,  he  maintained 
that  his  temperature  was  still  below  zero. 

"Benjamin,"  my  grandmother  said  to  him,  "you 
must  do  me  a  favour." 

"A  favour!  What  can  I  do  to  please  you,  dear 
sister?" 

"Can't  you  guess,  Benjamin?  You  must  be  the 
baby's  godfather." 

Benjamin,  who  had  not  guessed  it  at  all,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  was  taken  entirely  unawares,  shook 
his  head  and  emitted  a  prolonged  "But — 

"What,"  said  my  grandmother,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"you  don't  mean  to  refuse?" 

"Not  at  all,  dear  sister,  not  at  all,  but— 

"But  what?  Your  eternal  buts  make  me  impa- 
tient." 

"Well,  you  see,  I  have  never  been  a  godfather, 
and  I  really  shouldn't  know  what  to  do." 

"A  tremendous  difficulty !  You  will  be  told  what 
to  do.  I  will  ask  cousin  Guillaumot  to  give  you 
some  lessons." 


1 88  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"I  have  the  utmost  faith  in  cousin  Guillaumot's 
talents  and  zeal;  but  I  fear  the  prience  of  being  a 
godfather  is  not  suited  to  my  intelligence.  You  will 
do  better  to  take  a  godfather  already  endowed  with 
the  requisite  knowledge.  There's  Gaspard,  for  in- 
stance. He's  a  choir  boy  and  would  suit  per- 
fectly." 

"Come,  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  Madame 
Lalande,  "you  ought  to  accept  your  sister's  invita- 
tion. It  is  a  family  duty." 

"I  see,  Madame  Lalande,"  said  Benjamin. 
"Though  I  am  not  rich,  I  have  the  reputation  of 
doing  things  well,  and  you  would  rather  deal  with 
me  than  with  Gaspard.  Isn't  that  so?" 

"Oh,  fie,  Benjamin.  Oh,  fie,  Monsieur  Rathery," 
exclaimed  my  grandmother  and  Madame  Lalande 
simultaneously. 

"See  here,  my  dear  sister,  frankly  I  have  abso- 
lutely no  desire  to  be  a  godfather.  I  will  gladly  act 
toward  my  nephew  as  if  I  had  held  him  over  the 
baptismal  font.  I  will  listen  with  satisfaction  to  the 
annual  congratulations  that  he  will  extend  to  me  on 
my  birthday,  and  I  promise  to  think  them  beautiful 
even  if  they  have  been  composed  by  Millot-Rataut. 
I  will  let  him  kiss  me  every  New  Year's  Day,  and  I 
will  give  him  either  a  jumping  Jack  or  a  pair  of 
breeches,  whichever  you  prefer.  I  shall  even  feel 
flattered  if  you  name  him  Benjamin.  But  to  go 
plant  myself  like  a  great  simpleton  in  front  of  the 
baptismal  font  and  hold  a  candle  in  my  hand — oh, 


MY  UNCLE  SPENDS  NIGHT  IN  PRAYER  189 

no,  dear  sister,  you  mustn't  ask  it  of  me.  It  goes 
against  my  manly  dignity.  I  should  be  afraid  that 
Djhiarcos  would  laugh  in  my  face.  Besides,  how  can 
I  guarantee  that  the  squeding  youngster  will  re- 
nounce Satan  and  his  works?  Who  will  prove  to  me 
that  he  will  renounce  Satan  and  his  works?  If  the 
godfather's  responsibility  is  a  mere  sham,  as  some 
think,  what's  a  godfather  for?  What's  a  godmother 
for?  What  are  two  securities  for  instead  of  one? 
Why  need  my  signature  be  endorsed  by  another? 
But  if  the  responsibility  is  a  serious  one,  then  why 
should  I  incur  the  consequences?  Our  soul  is  our 
most  precious  possession.  Then  isn't  it  crazy  to 
pledge  it  for  someone  else's  soul?  Besides,  why  are 
you  in  such  a  hurry  to  have  the  poor  little  worm 
baptised?  Is  he  a  pate  de  foie  gras  or  a  Mayence 
ham  which  would  spoil  if  it  were  not  salted  without 
delay?  Wait  until  he  is  twenty-five.  Then  he  will 
at  least  be  able  to  answer  for  himself,  and  if  he 
needs  a  security  I  shall  know  what  I  have  to  do. 
Until  he  is  eighteen,  your  son  will  not  be  able  to 
enlist  in  the  army;  until  he  is  twenty-one,  he  will 
not  be  able  to  make  a  civil  contract;  until  he  is 
twenty-five,  he  will  not  be  able  to  marry  without 
your  consent  and  Machecourt's.  And  yet  you  expect 
him  at  the  age  of  nine  days  to  have  sufficient  dis- 
crimination to  choose  a  religion.  Come  now,  you 
can  see  for  yourself  it  is  irrational." 

"Oh,  dear  Madame  Machecourt,"  cried  the  nurse, 
frightened    at    my   uncle's    heterodox   logic,    "your 


i9o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

brother  is  one  of  the  damned.  Don't  let  him  he 
your  child's  godfather.  It  would  bring  him  mis- 
fortune." 

"Madame  Lalande,"  said  Benjamin,  in  a  severe 
tone,  "a  course  in  midwifery  is  not  a  course  in  logic. 
It  would  be  mean  in  me  to  argue  with  you.  I  will 
limit  myself  to  one  question.  Were  the  converts 
that  Saint  John  baptised  in  the  Jordan  for  a  sesterce 
and  a  cornet  of  dried  dates,  carried  there  from 
Jerusalem  on  their  nurses'  arms?" 

"On  my  word,"  said  Madame  Lalande,  embar- 
rassed by  the  objection,  "I  am  ready  to  believe  it." 

"What,  Madame,  you  are  ready  to  believe  it! 
Is  that  the  way  for  a  midwife  who  has  had  religious 
instruction  to  talk?  Well,  since  that's  the  way  you 
take  it,  I  will  propose  the  following  dilemma " 

"Let  us  alone  with  your  dilemmas,"  interrupted 
my  grandmother.  "What  does  Madame  Lalande 
know  about  a  dilemma?" 

"What,  Madame!"  exclaimed  the  nurse,  piqued 
at  my  grandmother's  remark.  "I  don't  know  what 
a  dilemma  is?  I,  the  wife  of  a  surgeon,  don't  know 
what  a  dilemma  is?  Go  on,  Monsieur  Rathery,  I 
am  listening  to  you." 

"There's  no  need  to,"  replied  my  grandmother, 
dryly.  "I  have  decided  that  Benjamin  is  to  be  the 
child's  godfather,  and  that  settles  it.  No  dilemma 
in  the  world  can  excuse  him  from  it." 

"I  appeal  to  Machecourt,"  cried  Benjamin. 

"Machecourt    has    condemned    you    in    advance. 


MY  UNCLE  SPENDS  NIGHT  IN  PRAYER  191 

This  morning  he  went  to  Corvol  to  invite  Mademoi- 
selle Minxit  to  be  godmother." 

"So  you  dispose  of  me  without  my  consent,"  cried 
my  uncle.  "You  haven't  even  the  consideration  to 
give  me  fair  warning.  What  am  I?  Stuffed  with 
sawdust?  A  gingerbread  mannikin?  A  fine  figure 
I  shall  cut  with  my  five  feet  ten  inches  beside  Made- 
moiselle Minxit's  five  feet  three.  Her  straight,  an- 
gular figure  will  look  like  a  beribboned  Maypole. 
You  know,  the  idea  of  walking  beside  her  to  church 
has  tormented  me  for  six  months,  and  my  aversion 
for  the  obligatory  act  has  almost  made  me  forego 
the  joy  of  becoming  her  husband." 

"You  see,  Madame  Lalande,"  said  my  grand- 
mother, "what  a  joker  Benjamin  is.  He  loves  Made- 
moiselle Minxit  passionately,  and  yet  he  can't  help 
laughing  at  her." 

"Hum!"  said  the  nurse. 

Benjamin,  who  had  forgotten  Madame  Lalande's 
presence,  realised  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  lapsus 
linguae.  To  escape  his  sister's  reproaches,  he  has- 
tened to  declare  that  he  consented  to  anything  they 
asked  of  him,  and  made  off  before  the  nurse  left. 

The  baptism  was  to  take  place  the  following  Sun- 
day. My  grandmother  plunged  into  expense  for 
the  occasion.  She  allowed  Machecourt  to  invite  all 
his  and  my  uncle's  friends  to  a  festal  meal.  Ben- 
jamin, for  his  part,  was  fn  a  position  to  meet  the 
expenses  that  the  generous  role  of  godfather  called 
for.  The  government  had  just  presented  him  with 


i92  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

a  hundred  francs  in  reward  of  his  zeal  in  propagat- 
ing vaccination  in  the  country  and  in  restoring  the 
potato,  which  agriculturists  and  physicians  had  been 
attacking,  to  a  place  of  honour. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  BEFORE  THE  BAILIFF 

THE  following  Saturday,  the  day  before  the  bap- 
tism, my  uncle  was  cited  to  appear  before  the  bailiff 
to  hear  himself  sentenced,  under  penalty  of  imprison- 
ment, to  pay  Monsieur  Bonteint  the  sum  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six  deniers  for 
merchandise  sold  to  him.  So  read  the  summons, 
the  cost  of  which  was  four  francs  five  sous.  Another 
man  would  have  lamented  his  fate  in  all  the  tones  of 
elegy.  But  the  soul  of  this  great  man  was  not 
reached  by  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune.  The  whirl- 
wind of  misery  that  society  raises,  the  mist  of  tears 
enshrouding  it,  did  not  rise  to  his  height.  His  body, 
it  is  true,  was  caught  in  the  mire  of  humanity.  When 
he  drank  too  much,  he  got  a  headache;  when  he 
walked  too  far,  he  got  tired;  when  the  road  was 
muddy,  he  splashed  himself  up  to  his  waist;  and, 
when  he  had  no  money  to  pay  his  score,  the  inn- 
keeper charged  it  on  his  ledger.  Yet,  like  the  rock 
whose  base  is  beaten  by  the  waves  but  whose  top 
shines  in  the  sunlight,  like  the  bird  with  its  nest  in  the 
thickets  by  the  wayside  and  soaring  up  in  the  azure 
skies,  so  Benjamin's  soul,  always  bright  and  serene, 

193 


194  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

soared  in  a  realm  above  the  rest  of  humanity.  He 
had  but  two  needs,  the  satisfaction  of  hunger  and 
thirst.  And  had  the  firmament  fallen  in  pieces  on  the 
earth  and  had  only  one  bottle  been  left  intact,  my 
uncle,  sitting  on  the  smoking  ruins  of  a  cosmic  body, 
would  calmly  have  drunk  down  the  contents  to  the 
resurrection  of  the  human  race.  To  him  the  past  was 
nothing,  and  the  future  as  yet  was  nothing.  He 
compared  the  past  to  an  empty  bottle,  and  the  fu- 
ture to  a  chicken  ready  for  the  spit. 

"What  care  I,"  said  he,  "what  sort  of  drink  the 
bottle  contains?  And  as  for  the  chicken,  why 
should  I  roast  myself  turning  it  round  and  round 
before  the  fire?  Perhaps  exactly  when  it  is  finished 
roasting,  and  the  table  is  laid,  and  I  have  tied  my 
napkin  on,  some  monster  will  come  along  and  carry 
away  the  smoking  fowl  in  his  jaws. 

'Eternity  and   Nothingness ! 

Ye  sombre  caverns  of  the  Past !' 

cries  the  poet.  For  my  part,  all  I  should  try  to  save 
from  the  gloomy  abyss  would  be  my  last  red  coat 
if  it  were  floating  about  within  my  reach.  Life  is 
entirely  in  the  present,  and  the  present  is  the  passing 
moment.  So,  of  what  significance  is  the  fortune  or 
the  misfortune  of  a  moment?  Here  is  a  beggar  and 
here  is  a  millionaire.  God  says  to  them,  'You 
have  but  a  minute  to  remain  upon  earth.'  This 
minute  gone,  he  grants  them  a  second,  then  a  third, 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  195 

and  lets  them  live  on  like  that  to  ninety.  Do  you 
think  the  one  is  really  happier  than  the  other?  All 
the  miseries  that  afflict  man,  man  alone  creates.  The 
pleasures  he  goes  to  so  much  trouble  to  get  are 
not  worth  a  quarter  of  the  effort  he  expends  upon 
them.  He  is  like  a  hunter  who  scours  the  country 
all  day  long  for  a  thin  hare  or  a  tough  partridge. 
We  boast  of  the  superiority  of  our  intelligence,  but 
what  good  does  it  do  us  that  we  can  calculate  the 
course  of  the  stars,  that  we  can  foretell  almost  to  a 
second  when  the  moon  will  pass  between  the  sun  and 
the  earth,  that  we  can  traverse  the  ocean  solitudes 
with  wooden  boats  or  hempen  sails,  if  we  do  not 
know  how  to  enjoy  the  blessings  with  which  God 
has  equipped  our  existence.  The  animals  that  we 
look  down  on  as  dumb  brutes  know  how  to  get 
more  out  of  life  than  we  do.  The  donkey  pastures 
at  ease  in  the  grass  without  troubling  whether  it  will 
grow  again.  It  doesn't  occur  to  the  bear  to  guard  a 
farmer's  flocks  so  as  to  have  warm  mittens  and  a  fur 
cap  in  the  winter  time.  The  hare  doesn't  beat  the 
drum  in  a  regiment  in  the  hope  of  earning  feed  for 
his  old  age.  The  vulture  does  not  get  a  position  as 
a  letter-carrier  in  order  to  wear  a  beautiful  gold 
necklace  around  its  bare  neck.  They  are  all  content 
with  what  nature  has  given  them,  with  the  bed  she 
made  for  them  in  the  grass,  with  the  roof  she  built 
for  them  under  the  blue,  starry  firmament. 

"As  soon  as  a  ray  of  light  shines  on  the  plain,  the 
bird  begins  to  twitter  on  its  branch,  the  insect  hums 


196  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

around  the  bushes,  the  fish  leaps  to  the  surface  of  its 
pool,  the  lizard  comes  out  on  the  warm  stones  of 
its  wall.  If  a  shower  falls  from  the  clouds,  each 
takes  refuge  in  its  hiding-place  and  waits  sleeping 
peacefully  until  the  sun  shines  again  the  next  day. 
Why  doesn't  man  do  likewise? 

"I  hope  it  won't  offend  the  great  King  Solomon, 
but  the  ant  is  the  stupidest  of  animals.  Instead  of 
playing  in  the  fields  in  the  loveliest  season  of  the 
year  and  sharing  in  the  glorious  festival  that  heaven 
bestows  on  the  earth  for  six  months  in  the  year  it 
wastes  the  whole  summer  piling  up  little  scraps  of 
leaves.  And  when  the  ant  city  is  finished,  a  wind 
comes  and  sweeps  it  away  under  its  wing." 

Benjamin  made  Bonteint's  process-server  get  drunk 
•and  used  the  stamped  paper  of  the  summons  to  wr-ap 
some  ointment  in. 

The  bailiff  before  whom  my  uncle  was  to  appear 
was  too  important  a  personage  for  me  to  fail  to 
describe  him.  Besides,  my  grandfather  on  his  death- 
bed expressly  urged  me  to  do  so,  and  I  would  not 
fail  in  this  pious  duty  for  anything  in  the  world. 

The  bailiff,  like  so  many  others,  was  born  of  poor 
parents.  His  swaddling-clothes  had  been  made  of  a 
gendarme's  old  cloak,  and  he  began  his  studies  in 
jurisprudence  by  cleaning  his  father's  big  sword  and 
currying  his  sorrel.  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
how  the  bailiff  rose  from  the  lowest  rank  of  the 
judicial  hierarchy  to  the  highest  judicial  position  in 
the  neighbourhood.  All  I  can  say  is  that  the  lizard 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  197 

reaches  the  peaks  of  the  high  rocks  as  well  as  the 
eagle. 

The  bailiff  had  a  number  of  set  ideas,  among  them 
that  he  was  a  great  personage.  The  lowliness  of  his 
birth  troubled  him.  He  could  not  conceive  how  a 
man  like  himself  had  not  been  born  a  gentleman. 
He  ascribed  it  to  an  error  on  the  Creator's  part. 
He  would  have  given  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his 
clerk  for  a  pitiful  coat  of  arms.  Nature  had  been 
tolerably  good  to  the  bailiff.  Though  she  had  dealt 
out  intelligence  to  him  in  neither  too  large  nor  too 
small  a  portion,  yet  she  had  added  a  large  dose  of 
shrewdness  and  self-assurance.  The  bailiff  was 
neither  stupid  nor  clever.  He  stood  exactly  between 
the  two  camps;  he  never  crossed  over  into  the  camp 
of  the  people  of  intelligence,  while  he  made  frequent 
incursions  into  the  accessible  territory  of  the  others. 
Since  he  was  denied  the  wit  of  clever  men,  he  con- 
tented himself  with  the  wit  of  fools — he  made  puns. 
It  was  the  duty  of  the  lawyers  and  their  wives  to 
think  his  puns  very  funny.  His  clerk  had  to  spread 
them  among  the  people,  and  even  explain  them  to 
those  dullards  who  at  first  failed  to  get  the  point. 
Thanks  to  this  agreeable  social  talent,  the  bailiff  had 
acquired  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  wit  in  a  certain 
circle.  But  my  uncle  said  he  had  purchased  his  repu- 
tation with  counterfeit  coin. 

Was  the  bailiff  an  honest  man?  I  should  not 
like  to  take  it  upon  myself  to  assert  the  contrary. 
You  know  the  code  of  laws  gives  an  accurate  defini- 


198  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

tion  of  the  concept  robber,  and  society  looks  upon 
all  those  who  are  not  included  in  the  definition  as 
honest  people,  and  the  bailiff  was  one  of  those  not 
included  in  the  definition.  By  various  machinations 
he  succeeded  in  conducting  not  only  the  business,  but 
even  the  pleasures  of  the  town.  As  a  magistrate, 
he  was  not  a  personage  to  be  highly  recommended. 
He  thoroughly  understood  the  law,  to  be  sure,  but 
when  it  went  counter  to  his  likes  or  his  dislikes,  he 
simply  set  it  aside.  The  charge  was  made  against 
him  that  one  scale  of  his  balance  was  of  gold  and 
the  other  of  wood,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't 
know  how,  but  his  friends  were  always  right  and 
his  enemies  always  wrong.  An  offence  always  in- 
curred the  highest  penalty  of  the  law,  and  if  the 
bailiff  could  have  added  to  it,  he  would  have  done  so 
with  a  will.  Nevertheless  the  law  cannot  always  be 
twisted  to  suit  one's  purposes;  so,  when  the  bailiff 
was  obliged  to  pass  sentence  upon  a  man  whom-  he 
feared  or  from  whom  he  hoped  for  something,  he 
got  out  of  the  dilemma  by  declining  to  pronounce 
judgment,  and  then  got  his  following  to  boast  of  his 
impartiality.  The  bailiff  courted  universal  admira- 
tion. He  cordially,  but  secretly,  detested  those  who 
had  any  sort  of  superiority  that  cast  him  into  the 
shade.  If  you  pretended  to  believe  in  his  impor- 
tance, even  if  you  sought  his  protection,  you  made 
him  the  happiest  of  men.  But  if  you  failed  to  take 
your  hat  off  to  him,  the  insult  buried  itself  so  deeply 
in  his  memory  and  made  such  a  wound  that  if  you 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  199 

and  he  lived  to  be  a  hundred  he  never  would  have 
forgiven  you.  So  woe  to  the  unfortunate  who  did 
not  salute  the  bailiff.  If  some  matter  brought  the 
man  to  court,  the  bailiff  would  know  a  skilful  way 
of  treating  him  roughly  so  as  to  drive  him  to  show 
lack  of  respect.  Then  vengeance  became  duty,  and 
he  had  the  man  thrown  in  prison,  all  the  while  de- 
ploring the  sad  necessity  that  his  office  imposed  upon 
him.  Often,  even,  to  make  people  believe  in  his 
grief,  he  carried  hypocrisy  so  far  as  to  take  to  his 
bed,  and  on  special  occasions  even  had  himself  bled. 
The  bailiff  paid  court  to  God  just  as  he  did  to 
the  earthly  powers.  He  never  absented  himself 
from  high  mass,  and  his  place  was  always  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  vestrymen's  pew.  That  brought 
him  every  Sunday  a  share  of  the  blessed  bread  and 
also  the  cure's  protection.  Could  he  have  had  an 
official  report  drawn  up  testifying  to  his  having 
attended  divine  service,  he  undoubtedly  would  have 
done  so.  But  these  little  faults  were  compensated 
for  by  brilliant  qualities.  No  one  understood  better 
than  he  how  to  organise  a  ball  at  the  town's  ex- 
pense or  a  banquet  in  honour  of  the  Due  de  Niver- 
nais.  On  such  festive  occasions  he  was  magnificent 
in  his  dignity,  his  appetite,  and  his  puns.  Lamoignon 
or  President  Mole  would  have  been  small  beside 
him.  For  ten  years  he  had  been  hoping  to  receive 
the  cross  of  Saint  Louis  in  reward  for  the  eminent 
services  he  rendered  the  city.  And  when  Lafayette 
was  given  the  cross  after  his  American  cam- 


200  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

paigns,  he  muttered  to  himself  against  the  injustice. 

Such  was  the  bailiff  morally.  As  for  his  body, 
it  was  a  fat  figure,  although  he  had  not  yet  attained 
his  full  majesty.  His  figure  resembled  an  ellipse 
enlarged  at  the  lower  end.  He  might  have  been 
compared  to  an  ostrich-egg  on  two  legs.  Perfidious 
nature,  which  lets  the  manchineel  tree  cast  a  broad, 
heavy  shade  beneath  a  fiery  sky,  bestowed  upon  the 
bailiff  the  appearance  of  an  honest  man.  And  he 
loved  to  make  an  impression.  It  was  a  glorious  day 
in  his  life  when  he  could  go  from  the  courthouse 
to  the  church  escorted  by  the  firemen. 

The  bailiff  always  stood  as  stiff  as  a  statue  on  a 
pedestal.  If  you  had  not  known  him,  you  would 
have  said  he  had  a  plaster  of  Burgundy  pitch  or  a 
broad  blister  between  his  shoulders.  On  the  street 
he  walked  as  if  carrying  the  holy  sacrament.  His 
step  was  as  invariably  the  same  length  as  a  yard- 
stick. A  shower  of  spears  would  not  have  made 
him  lengthen  it  an  inch.  With  the  bailiff  as  his 
single  instrument  an  astronomer  could  have  measured 
an  arc  of  the  meridian. 

My  uncle  did  not  hate  the  bailiff.  He  did  not 
even  honour  him  with  his  contempt.  But  in  pres- 
ence of  such  moral  baseness  he  felt  something  like 
nausea  of  his  soul,  and  sometimes  he  said  the  man 
had  the  effect  upon  him  of  a  great  toad  squatting  on 
a  velvet  arm-chair. 

As  for  the  bailiff,  he  hated  Benjamin  with  the 
whole  force  of  his  bilious  soul.  Benjamin  was  not 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  201 

ignorant  of  this,  but  it  made  very  little  difference 
to  him. 

My  grandmother,  fearing  a  conflict  between  these 
two  such  opposite  natures,  wanted  Benjamin  to 
refrain  from  going  to  court.  But  the  great  man, 
confident  of  the  strength  of  his  will,  disdained  this 
timid  counsel.  His  one  concession  was  to  abstain 
from  his  customary  allowance  of  mulled  wine  on 
Saturday  morning. 

Bonteint's  lawyer  proved  that  his  client  had  a 
right  to  a  verdict  of  imprisonment  for  debt.  When 
he  had  exhausted  every  argument,  the  bailiff  asked 
Benjamin  what  he  had  to  say  in  his  defence. 

"I  have  only  a  simple  remark  to  make,"  said  my 
uncle,  "but  it  is  worth  more  than  Monsieur's  whole 
speech,  because  it  is  irrefutable.  I  am  five  feet  ten 
inches  above  the  level  of  the  sea  and  six  inches  above 
the  average  height.  So,  I  think " 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  interrupted  the  bailiff,  "no 
matter  how  great  a  man  you  may  be,  you  have  no 
right  to  joke  with  justice." 

"If  I  wanted  to  joke,"  said  my  uncle,  "it  would 
not  be  with  so  powerful  a  personage  as  your  Hon- 
our, whose  justice,  moreover,  does  not  joke.  But 
when  I  affirm  that  I  am  five  feet  ten  inches  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  I  am  not  making  a  joke.  I 
am  offering  a  serious  defence.  Your  Honour  can 
have  me  measured  if  he  doubts  the  truth  of  my  state- 
ment. I  think— 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  snapped  the  bailiff,  "if  you 


202  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

continue  in  this  vein,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  forbid 
your  talking." 

"Not  necessary,"  answered  my  uncle.  "I  am 
done.  So  I  think,"  he  added,  bringing  his  words 
out  precipitately,  "that  the  body  of  a  man  of  my 
size  is  not  to  be  seized  for  fifty  miserable  crowns." 

"According  to  you,"  said  the  bailiff,  "the  seizure 
of  the  body  can  be  practised  only  on  one  of  your 
arms,  or  one  of  your  legs,  or  perhaps  even  on  your 
queue." 

"In  the  first  place,"  answered  my  uncle,  "your 
Honour  will  note  that  my  queue  is  not  in  question. 
Secondly,  I  make  no  such  assumption  as  your  Honour 
attributes  to  me.  I  was  born  undivided,  and  I  intend 
to  remain  undivided  all  my  life.  But  the  security  is 
worth  at  least  double  the  amount  of  the  debt.  I  beg 
your  Honour  to  order  that  the  sentence  for  seizure 
of  my  body  shall  not  be  executed  until  Bonteint 
shall  have  furnished  me  with  three  more  red  coats." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,  this  is  not  a  tavern.  I  beg 
you  to  remember  to  whom  you  are  talking.  Your 
remarks  are  as  ill-considered  as  your  person." 

"Monsieur  bailiff,"  answered  my  uncle,  "I  have 
a  good  memory,  and  I  know  very  well  to  whom 
I  am  talking.  I  have  been  too  carefully  brought 
up  by  my  dear  sister  in  the  fear  of  God  and  the 
gendarmes  to  allow  me  to  forget  it.  As  for  taverns, 
since  you  mention  the  subject,  taverns  are  too  highly 
appreciated  by  respectable  people  to  need  my  de- 
fence of  them.  If  we  go  to  a  tavern  when  we  are 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  203 

thirsty,  it  is  because  we  have  not  the  privilege  of 
refreshing  ourselves  at  the  city's  expense.  The 
tavern  is  the  wine-cellar  of  those  who  have  none, 
and  the  wine-cellar  of  those  who  have  one  is  noth- 
ing, but  a  tavern  without  a  sign.  It  ill  becomes  those 
who  drink  a  bottle  of  Burgundy  and  something  else 
for  their  dinner  to  abuse  the  poor  devil  who  now 
and  then  regales  himself  at  the  tavern  with  a  pint 
of  Croix-Pataux.  Those  official  orgies  where  men 
get  drunk  toasting  the  king  and  the  Due  de  Nivernais 
are,  stripped  of  fine  speech,  simply  what  the  people 
call  drinking  bouts.  To  get  drunk  at  one's  own 
table  is  supposed  to  be  more  decent,  but  to  get  drunk 
at  a  tavern  is  nobler  and  more  profitable  to  the 
public  treasury.  As  to  the  consideration  attaching 
to  my  person,  it  is  not  so  widespread  as  that  which 
Monsieur  can  claim  for  his  person,  inasmuch  as  I 
enjoy  the  consideration  of  none  but  honest  people. 
However " 

''Monsieur  Rathery,"  cried  the  bailiff,  finding  no? 
better  and  easier  answer  to  the  epigrams  with  which 
my  uncle  was  tormenting  him,  "you  are  insolent." 

"So  be  it,"  replied  Benjamin,  knocking  off  a  bit 
of  straw  from  the  facing  of  his  coat,  "but  I  must  in 
conscience  warn  your  Honour  that  this  morning  I 
have  kept  within  the  strictest  limits  of  temperance, 
and  if  your  Honour  tries  to  make  me  denart  from  the 
respect  I  owe  your  robe,  I  cannot  be  held  responsible 
for  the  consequences." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,0  exclaimed  the  bailiff,  "your 


204  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

allusions  are  an  insult  to  the  court.  I  fine  you  thirty 
sous." 

"Here  are  three  francs,"  said  my  uncle,  putting 
a  coin  on  the  judge's  green  table.  "Take  your  pay 
out  of  that." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  cried  the  bailiff  in  exaspera- 
tion, "leave  the  room." 

"Monsieur  bailiff,  I  have  the  honour  to  salute  you. 
My  compliments  to  Madame  your  wife,  if  you 
please." 

"I  fine  you  forty  sous  more,"  screamed  the  judge. 

"What,  a  fine  of  forty  sous  for  presenting  my 
compliments  to  Madame  your  wife." 

And  he  went  out. 

"That  devil  of  a  man!"  said  the  bailiff  in  the 
evening  to  his  wife.  "I  should  never  have  supposed 
that  he  would  be  so  self-controlled.  But  let  him  look 
out.  I  have  issued  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,  and  I 
shall  persuade  Bonteint  to  execute  it  immediately. 
He  shall  learn  what  it  means  to  defy  me.  He  can 
wait  long  till  I  invite  him  to  the  festivities  given  by 
the  city,  and  if  I  can  cut  off  his  practice " 

"For  shame!"  answered  his  wife.  "Is  that  the 
right  way  for  a  man  who  sits  in  the  vestryman's  pew 
to  talk?  Besides,  what  has  M.  Rathery  done  to 
you?  He  is  such  a  jolly,  cultured,  delightful  man." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  he  has  done  to  me,  Madame. 
He  has  dared  to  remind  me  that  your  father-in-law 
was  a  gendarme,  and  said  he  is  wittier  and  more 
honest  than  I  am.  Is.  that  a  small  matter?" 


MY  UNCLE'S  SPEECH  205 

By  the  next  morning  my  uncle  had  forgotten  about 
the  warrant  issued  for  his  arrest.  He  started  off 
for  church,  powdered  and  solemn,  Mademoiselle 
Minxit  on  his  right  and  his  sword  on  his  left.  He  was 
followed  by  Page,  who  was  evidently  pleased  by  the 
appearance  he  presented  in  his  best  brown  coat;  by 
Arthus,  whose  abdomen  was  enveloped  to  a  point 
beyond  its  diameter  by  a  waistcoat  embroidered  with 
large  branches  and  birds  fluttering  among  them;  by 
Millot-Rataut,  who  wore  a  brick-coloured  wig  and 
whose  yellowish  shinbones  were  dotted  with  black; 
and  by  a  great  many  others,  whose  names  I  do 
not  care  to  hand  down  to  posterity.  Parlanta  alone 
failed  to  answer  to  the  call.  Two  violins  squeaked 
at  the  head  of  the  procession.  Machecourt  and  his 
wife  brought  up  the  rear.  Benjamin,  always  munifi- 
cent, scattered  sweetmeats  and  the  pennies  from  the 
vaccination  money.  Gaspard,  very  proud  to  serve 
as  a  pocket,  walked  by  his  side,  carrying  the  sweet- 
meats in  a  big  bag. 


CHAPTER  XV- 

HOW  PARLANTA  ARRESTED  MY   UNCLE,   WHILE 

ACTING  AS   GODFATHER,   AND    PUT 

HIM  IN  PRISON 

BUT  lo !  Quite  another  ceremony  was  in  store  for 
him!  Parlanta  had  been  expressly  ordered  by  Bon- 
teint'  and  the  bailiff  to  execute  the  warrant  during 
the  ceremony.  He  had  concealed  his  assistants  in 
the  vestibule  of  the  court-house,  and  himself  awaited 
the  procession  at  the  church  portal. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  my  uncle's  three-cornered  hat 
rise  above  the  steps  of  Vieille-Rome,  he  went  up  to 
him  and  summoned  him  in  the  name  of  the  king  to 
follow  him  to  prison. 

"Parlanta,"  answered  my  uncle,  "what  you  are 
doing  511  accords  with  the  rules  of  French  polite- 
ness. Couldn't  you  have  waited  until  to-morrow, 
and  come  and  dined  with  us  to-day?" 

"If  it  makes  very  much  difference  to  you,  I  will 
wait.  But  I'll  tell  you,  the  bailiff's  orders  were  very 
explicit,  and  I  run  the  risk  of  bringing  his  ven- 
geance down  on  me  in  this  life  and  the  next." 

"In  that  case,  do  your  duty,"  said  Benjamin;  and 
he  asked  Page  to  take  his  place  beside  Mademoiselle 

206 


PARLANTA  ARRESTS  MY  UNCLE     207 

Minxit.  Then,  bowing  with  all  the  grace  that  his 
five  feet  ten  inches  would  allow,  he  said : 

"You  see,  Mademoiselle,  that  I  am  forced  to 
leave  you.  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  nothing  less 
than  a  summons  in  the  name  of  His  Majesty  could 
induce  me  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  wish  Parlanta  had 
allowed  me  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  this  ceremony 
to  the  end,  but  these  sheriff's  officers  are  like  death. 
They  snatch  their  prey  anywhere,  they  tear  it  vio- 
lently from  the  arms  of  the  loved  one  as  a  child 
catches  a  butterfly  by  its  gauze  wings  and  tears  it 
from  the  rose's  heart." 

"It  is  as  disagreeable  to  me  as  to  you,"  said  Made- 
moiselle Minxit,  pulling  a  long  face.  "Your  friend 
is  short  and  as  round  as  a  ball,  and  he  wears  a  wig  a 
marteaux.  I  shall  look  like  a  bean  pole  beside  him." 

"What  can  I  do  about  it?"  said  Benjamin,  dryly, 
hurt  by  such  egoism.  "I  cannot  make  you  any 
shorter,  or  M.  Page  any  thinner,  and  I  cannot  lend 
him  my  queue." 

Benjamin  took  leave  of  the  company  and  followed 
Parlanta,  whistling  his  favourite  air: 

"Marlbrough  is  off  to  war." 

He  halted  a  moment  at  the  threshold  of  the  prison 
to  cast  a  last  glance  at  the  free  spaces  about  to  be 
shut  off  behind  him.  He  saw  his  sister  standing 
motionless,  holding  her  husband's  arm  and  looking 
after  Benjamin  sadly.  At  the  sight  of  her  look, 


ao8  MY  UNCLE  BENTAMIN 

Benjamin  quickly  shut  the  door  behind  him  and 
rushed  into  the  prison-yard. 

That  night  my  grandfather  and  his  wife  paid 
him  a  visit.  They  found  him  standing  on  the  steps, 
throwing  the  rest  of  his  sweetmeats  to  his  com- 
panions in  captivity  and  laughing  gleefully  to  see 
them  scramble  for  them. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing?"  said  my  grand- 
father. 

"You  see,*'  answered  Benjamin,  "I  am  finishing 
the  baptismal  ceremony.  Don't  you  find  that  these 
men  falling  over  each  other  to  pick  up  insipid  sweet- 
meats are  a  true  picture  of  society?  Isn't  that  the 
way  the  poor  inhabitants  of  the  earth  push  each 
other,  trample  on  each  other,  throw  each  other 
down,  to  snatch  at  the  gifts  God  has  thrown  them? 
Isn't  that  the  way  the  strong  man  tramples  on  the 
weak  man?  Isn't  that  the  way  the  weak  man  bleeds 
and  cries?  Isn't  that  the  way  the  man  who  has  taken 
everything  arrogantly  scorns  and  insults  the  man 
whom  he  has  left  nothing?  And  isn't  that  the  way 
when  the  man  who  has  nothing  dares  to  complain 
the  other  kicks  him?  These  poor  devils  are  breath- 
less, covered  with  sweat,  their  fingers  are  bruised, 
their  faces  torn.  Not  one  of  them  has  come  out  of 
the  struggle  without  a  scratch.  Had  they  listened 
to  their  real  interests  would  they  not  have  done 
better  to  share  the  sweetmeats  like  brothers  instead 
of  fighting  over  them  like  enemies?" 

"Possibly,"  answered  Machecourt.     "But  try  not 


PARLANTA  ARRESTS  MY  UNCLE     209 

to  be  too  bored  this  evening  and  be  sure  to  sleep  well 
to-night,  because  to-morrow  morning  you  will  be 
free." 

"How  so?"  answered  Benjamin. 

"To  get  you  out  of  here  we  have  sold  our  little 
vineyard  in  Choulot." 

"Is  the  contract  signed?"  inquired  Benjamin, 
anxiously. 

"Not  yet,"  said  my  grandfather,  "but  we  are  to 
meet  to-night  to  sign  it." 

"Now  listen,  Machecourt,  and  you,  my  dear  sister. 
Listen  very  carefully  to  what  I  am  going  to  say. 
If  you  sell  your  vineyard  to  get  me  out  of  Bonteint's 
clutches,  the  first  use  I  shall  make  of  my  liberty 
will  be  to  leave  your  house.  And  you  will  never 
in  all  your  life  see  me  again." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Machecourt,  "it's  got  to  be 
done.  A  brother  can't  do  differently.  I  can't  let 
you  stay  in  prison  when  I  have  the  means  of  getting 
you  out.  You  take  things  as  a  philosopher,  but  I  am 
not  a  philosopher.  As  long  as  you  are  in  this  place, 
I  shan't  be  able  to  eat  a  morsel  or  drink  a  glass  of 
white  wine." 

"And  I,"  said  my  grandmother,  "do  you  think 
I  can  get  along  without  seeing  you  any  more? 
Didn't  our  mother  on  her  death-bed  tell  me  to  take 
care  of  you?  Haven't  I  brought  you  UD?  Don't  I 
look  upon  vou  as  r^e  oldest  of  mv  children?  And 
my  poor  children,  thevVe  a  sad  sight.  Since  vouVe 
been  gone,  you'd  think  there  was  a  coffin  in  the 


210  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

house.  They  all  wanted  to  come  along  to  see  you. 
And  Nanette  absolutely  refused  to  touch  her  cake. 
She  had  to  keep  it  for  uncle  Benjamin,  who  was  in 
prison  and  had  only  black  bread  to  eat." 

"This  is  too  much,"  said  Benjamin,  clutching  my 
grandfather's  shoulders.  "Go  away,  Machecourt, 
and  you  too,  my  dear  sister,  go  away,  please  do. 
You  will  make  me  be  guilty  of  a  weakness.  And  I 
warn  you  again,  if  you  sell  your  vineyard  to  buy  me 
out  of  here,  I  will  never  in  my  life  set  eyes  on  you 
again." 

"Nonsense,  you  silly!"  answered  my  grand- 
mother, "isn't  a  brother  worth  more  than  a  vine- 
yard? If  you  had  the  chance,  wouldn't  you  do  the 
same  for  us  that  we're  doing  for  you?  And  when 
you  get  to  be  rich,  aren't  you  going  to  help  us  take 
care  of  our  children?  With  your  profession  and 
your  talents  you  can  return  us  a  hundredfold  what 
we  are  giving  you  to-day.  And  then,  my  God.  what 
will  people  say  of  us  if  we  should  leave  you  behind 
the  bars  for  a  debt  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs? 
Come,  Benjamin,  be  a  good  brother,  don't  be  obsti- 
nate, don't  make  us  all  unhappy  by  insisting  on  stay- 
ing here." 

While  my  grandmother  was  speaking,  Benjamin 
kept  his  head  hidden  in  his  hands,  trying  to  repress 
the  tears  that  were  gathering  under  his  eyelids. 

"Machecourt,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "I  can't  stand 
this  any  longer.  Tell  Boutron  to  bring  me  a  little 
glass  of  brandy,  and  come  and  kiss  me.  See,"  he 


PARLANTA  ARRESTS  MY  UNCLE     211 

said,  squeezing  him  to  his  chest  so  hard  that  he 
almost  cried  out  with  pain,  "you  are  the  first  man 
I  have  ever  kissed  and  these  are  the  first  tears  I 
have  shed  since  I  used  to  be  flogged." 

And  my  poor  uncle  actually  burst  into  tears.  But 
the  jailer  brought  two  small  glasses  of  brandy,  and 
Benjamin  had  no  sooner  emptied  his  than  he  turned 
as  bright  and  serene  as  an  April  sky  after  a  shower. 

My  grandmother  tried  again  to  make  him  change 
his  mind,  but  her  words  had  no  more  effect  than  the 
moon's  rays  upon  an  icicle. 

The  only  thing  that  troubled  him  was  that  the 
jailer  had  seen  him  cry.  So  Machecourt  willy-nilly 
had  to  keep  his  vineyard. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON HOW  MY  UNCLE  GOT  OUT 

OF   PRISON 

THE  next  morning,  as  my  uncle  was  taking  a  walk 
in  the  prison-yard,  whistling  a  familiar  air,  Arthus 
entered,  followed  by  three  men  with  baskets  on  their 
backs  covered  with  white  linen. 

"Good  morning,  Benjamin,"  he  said,  "we  have 
come  to  breakfast  with  you,  since  you  cannot  come 
to  breakfast  with  us." 

At  the  same  time  came  filing  in  Page,  Rapin, 
Guillerand,  Millot-Rataut,  and  Machecourt.  Par- 
lanta  brought  up  the  rear,  looking  a  little  abashed. 
My  uncle  went  up  to  him,  and,  taking  his  hand, 
said: 

"Well,  Parlanta,  I  hope  you  don't  bear  me  any 
ill-will  for  making  you  lose  a  good  dinner  yester- 
day." 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Parlanta,  "I  was 
afraid  you  would  be  angry  with  me  for  not  allow- 
ing you  to  go  through  with  the  baptism." 

"I  want  you  to  know,  Benjamin,"  broke  in  Page, 
"that  we  have  assessed  ourselves  to  get  you  out  of 
here.  But,  as  we  have  no  ready  cash,  we  act  as  if 

212 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON  213 

money  had  not  been  invented.  We  give  Bonteint  our 
respective  services,  each  according  to  his  profession. 
I  will  plead  his  first  case  for  him,  Parlanta  will  write 
two  summonses  for  him,  Arthus  will  draw  up  his 
will,  Rapin  will  give  him  two  or  three  consultations 
that  will  cost  him  dearer  than  he  thinks;  Guillerand 
will  give  his  children  some  excuse  for  grammar  les- 
sons, Rataut,  who  is  a  poet  and  therefore  is  nothing, 
engages  himself  on  his  honour  to  buy  of  him  all  the 
coats  he  may  need  for  the  next  two  years,  which,  in 
my  opinion  and  his,  does  not  engage  him  to  very 
much." 

"And  does  Bonteint  accept?"  said  Benjamin. 

"Accept?"  said  Page,  awhy,  he  receives  value 
amounting  to  more  than  five  hundred  francs.  It  was 
Rapin  who  arranged  this  matter  with  him  yesterday. 
The  only  thing  left  to  do  is  to  draw  up  the  docu- 
ments." 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  will  contribute  my  share 
in  this  good  work.  I  will  treat  him  free  of  charge 
the  next  two  times  he  gets  sick.  If  I  kill  him  the 
first  time,  his  wife  shall  inherit  the  privilege  of  the 
second.  As  for  you,  Machecourt,  I'll  let  you  sub- 
scribe a  jug  of  white  wine." 

Meantime  Arthus  had  had  the  table  set  at  the 
jailer's.  He  took  from  the  baskets  the  dishes,  the 
contents  of  all  of  which  had  become  somewhat  mixed 
together,  and  placed  them  in  their  order  on  the 
table. 

"Come,"   he   shouted,   "let  us   sit  down,   and  a 


214  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

truce  to  your  talking.  I  don't  like  to  be  disturbed 
when  I  am  eating.  You'll  have  plenty  of  time  to 
chatter  at  dessert." 

The  breakfast  did  not  taste  at  all  of  the  place  in 
which  it  was  partaken.  Machecourt  alone  was  a 
little  sad,  for  the  arrangement  made  with  Bonteint 
by  my  uncle's  friends  seemed  to  him  like  a  joke. 

"Come,  Machecourt,"  cried  Benjamin,  "your 
glass  is  always  in  your  hand,  full  or  empty.  Are 
you  the  prisoner  here,  or  am  I?  By  the  way,  gen- 
tlemen, do  you  know  that  Machecourt  came  near 
perpetrating  a  good  deed  yesterday?  He  wanted 
to  sell  his  goocl  vineyard  to  pay  Bonteint  my 
ransom." 

"Magnificent!"  cried  Page. 

"Succulent!"  said  Arthus. 

"Morality  in  action,"  remarked  Guillerand. 

"Gentlemen,"  interjected  Rapin,  "virtue  must  be 
honoured  wherever  one  is  fortunate  enough  to  find 
it.  I  propose,  therefore,  that  every  time  Mache- 
court sits  down  at  table  with  us,  he  shall  be  given 
an  arm-chair." 

*r      "So  ordered,"  cried  all  the  guests  together,  "and 
here's  to  Machecourt's  health!" 

"Upon  my  word !"  said  my  uncle,  "I  don't  see  why 
people  are  so  afraid  of  prison.  Isn't  this  fowl  as 
tender  and  this  Bordeaux  as  delicious  on  this  side  of 
the  bars  as  on  the  other?" 

"Yes,"  said  Guillerand,  "as  long  as  there  is  grass 
near  the  wall  to  which  it  is  fastened  the  goat  does 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON          215 

not  feel  its  tether,  but  when  the  place  is  stripped,  it 
begins  to  worry  and  tries  to  break  it." 

"To  go  from  the  grass  that  grows  in  the  valley 
to  that  which  grows  on  the  mountain  is  the  liberty 
of  the  goat,"  my  uncle  answered,  "but  man's  liberty 
does  not  consist  in  merely  doing  just  as  he  pleases. 
He  whose  body  has  been  imprisoned  but  who  has 
been  left  the  liberty  to  think  at  his  will  is  a  hundred 
times  freer  than  he  whose  soul  is  held  captive  in 
the  chains  of  an  odious  occupation.  The  prisoner 
undoubtedly  passes  sad  hours  in  contemplating 
through  his  bars  the  road  that  winds  through  the 
plain  and  loses  itself  in  the  bluish  shade  of  some 
far-off  forest.  He  would  like  to  be  the  poor  woman 
who  leads  her  cow  along  the  road,  twirling  her 
distaff,  or  the  poor  wood-cutter  who  goes  back 
loaded  with  boughs  to  his  hut  smoking  above  the 
trees.  But  this  liberty  to  be  where  one  likes,  to  go 
straight  ahead  until  one  is  weary  or  is  stopped  by  a 
ditch — who  possesses  it?  Is  not  the  paralytic  a 
prisoner  in  his  bed,  the  merchant  in  his  shop,  the 
clerk  in  his  office,  the  burgher  in  his  little  town,  the 
king  in  his  kingdom,  and  God  himself  in  the  icy 
circumference  that  encircles  the  world?  You  go 
breathless  and  dripping  with  perspiration  over  a 
road  burned  with  the  sun.  Here  are  tall  trees  that 
spread  their  lofty  tiers  of  verdure  beside  you,  and 
ironically  shake  their  yellow  leaves  on  your  head  as 
if  in  sport.  I  am  sure  you  would  like  very  much  to 
rest  a  moment  in  their  shade  and  wipe  your  feet  on 


216  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

the  moss  that  carpets  their  roots.  But  between  them 
and  you  there  are  six  feet  of  wall,  or  the  sharp- 
pointed  bars  of  an  iron  grating.  Arthus,  Rapin, 
and  all  of  you  who  have  only  a  stomach,  who  after 
breakfast  can  only  think  of  dinner — I  don't  know 
whether  you  will  understand  me.  But  Millot-Rataut, 
who  is  a  tailor  and  composes  Christmas  songs,  he 
will  understand  me.  I  have  often  desired  to  follow 
(he  wind-driven  cloud  in  its  wanderings  across  the 
sky.  Often  when,  resting  my  elbows  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, and  dreamily  following  the  moon  which 
seemed  to  look  at  me  like  a  human  face,  I  have  had 
the  desire  to  fly  away  like  a  bubble  of  air  toward 
those  mysterious  regions  of  solitude  that  spread 
above  my  head,  and  I  should  have  given  all  the 
world  to  sit  for  a  moment  on  one  of  those  gigantic 
peaks  which  rend  the  white  surface  of  that  planet. 
Was  I  not  then  also  a  captive  on  the  earth  as  truly 
as  the  poor  prisoner  within  the  high  walls  of  his 
prison?" 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Page,  "one  thing  must  be  ad- 
mitted. To  the  rich  man  the  prison  is  made  too 
pleasant  and  comfortable.  It  punishes  him  the  way 
a  spoiled  child  is  punished,  like  that  nymph  who 
whipped  Cupid  with  a  rose.  If  the  rich  man  is 
allowed  to  take  into  prison  his  kitchen,  wine-cellar, 
library,  parlour,  then  he  is  not  a  convict  undergoing 
punishment,  but  a  burgher  who  has  changed  his 
lodgings.  Here  you  are  sitting  before  a  nice  fire, 
wrapped  in  the  wadding  of  your  dressing-gown. 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON  217 

With  your  feet  on  the  andirons  you  digest  your 
food  in  your  stomach  fragrant  with  truffles  and 
champagne.  The  snow  comes  fluttering  down  on 
the  bars  of  your  window  while  you  blow  the  bluish 
smoke  of  your  cigar  to  the  ceiling.  You  dream,  you 
think,  you  build  castles  in  the  air  or  write  verses. 
At  your  side  is  your  newspaper,  that  friend  which 
you  leave,  which  you  call  back,  and  which  you  cast 
away  for  good  when  it  becomes  too  tiresome.  What 
is  there  in  such  a  situation,  I  should  like  to  know, 
that  resembles  a  penalty?  Haven't  you  passed 
hours,  days,  entire  weeks  like  that,  without  leaving 
your  house?  And  while  you  are  passing  your  time 
in  this  manner,  what  is  the  judge  doing,  who  has  had 
the  barbarity  to  condemn  you  to  this  torture?  He 
is  hearing  cases  from  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
shivering  in  his  black  robe  and  listening  to  the 
rigmarole  of  some  lawyer  who  repeats  the  same 
thing  over  and  over  again.  And  while  thus  occu- 
pied catarrh  seizes  his  lungs  with  its  numbing  clutch, 
or  chilblains  bite  his  toes  with  their  sharp  teeth. 
You  say  that  you  are  not  free  !  On  the  contrary,  you 
are  a  hundred  times  freer  than  in  your  house.  Your 
whole  day  belongs  to  you.  You  get  up  when  you 
like,  go  to  bed  when  you  like,  do  what  you  like, 
and  you  don't  have  to  shave  either. 

"Take  Benjamin,  for  instance.  He  is  a  prisoner. 
Do  you  think  Bonteint  has  served  him  such  a  bad 
turn  in  having  him  shut  up  here?  He  often  had  to 
rise  before  the  street  lamps  were  out.  With  one 


218  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

stocking  on  wrong  side  out,  he  went  from  door  to 
door,  inspecting  this  one's  tongue  and  feeling  that 
one's  pulse.  When  he  had  finished  on  one  side,  he 
had  to  begin  on  the  other.  He  splashed  himself  on 
the  cross-roads  up  to  his  queue ;  and  the  peasants  gen- 
erally had  nothing  to  offer  him  but  curds  and  black 
bread.  When  he  came  home  at  night  very  tired,  had 
settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  bed,  and  was  be- 
ginning to  taste  the  joys  of  the  early  hours  of  sleep, 
he  would  be  brutally  awakened  and  called  to  the 
mayor  choking  with  indigestion,  or  to  the  bailiff's 
wife  who  was  having  a  miscarriage.  Here  he  is 
free  of  all  this  bother  and  worry.  He  is  as  well  off 
here  as  a  rat  in  a  Dutch  cheese.  Bonteint  has  made 
him  a  present  of  a  little  income,  which  he  is  con- 
suming like  a  philosopher.  Verily  he  is  like  the  lily 
of  the  Gospel.  He  bleeds  not,  neither  does  he  pre- 
scribe purgatives,  and  yet  is  well  fed;  he  toils  not, 
neither  does  he  spin,  and  yet  is  arrayed  in  a  magnifi- 
cent red  robe.  Upon  my  word,  we  are  fools  to  pity 
him,  and  enemies  to  his  comfort  to  try  to  get  him 
out  of  here." 

"It  is  comfortable  here,  I  grant  you,"  answered 
my  uncle,  "but  I'd  rather  be  uncomfortable  else- 
where. That  shall  not  prevent  me  from  admitting 
Page's  contention  that  not  only  is  the  prison  too 
pleasant  for  the  rich  man,  but  too  pleasant  for  every- 
body. It  is  undoubtedly  hard  to  cry  to  the  law  when 
it  scourges  a  poor,  unfortunate  fellow,  'Strike 
harder,  you  don't  hurt  him  enough.'  But  we  must 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON          219 

also  guard  against  that  unintelligent,  short-sighted 
philanthropy  which  sees  nothing  beyond  his  misfor- 
tune.    Real  philosophers,  like  Guillerand,  like  Mil- 
lot-Rataut,  like  Parlanta,  in  a  word,  like  all  of  us, 
should  consider  men  only  en  masse,,  as  we  consider 
a  wheat  field.     A  social  question  should  always  be 
regarded  from  the  standpoint  of  the  public  interest. 
You  have  distinguished  yourself  by  a  fine  feat  of 
arms,  and  the  king  decorates  you  with  the  cross  of 
Saint   Louis.      Do   you    think    it's    from    goodwill 
toward  yourself,  in  the  interest  of  your  own  indi- 
vidual glory  that  His  Majesty  authorises  you  to  wear 
his  gracious  image  on  your  breast?    Ah,  no,  my  poor 
brave!     It  is  in  his  own  interest  first,  and  in  that  of 
the  State,  next.     It  is  in  order  that  those  who,  like 
you,  have  hot  blood  in  their  veins,  may  imitate  your 
example,  seeing  how  generously  you  have  been  re- 
warded.   Now,  suppose  that,  instead  of  a  good  deed, 
you  have  committed  a  crime.     You  have  killed,  not 
three  or  four  men  who  are  different  from  you  be- 
cause they  don't  wear  the  same  kind  of  coat-collar 
that  you  do,  but  a  good  burgher  of  your  own  country. 
The  judge  has  sentenced  you  to  death,  and  the  king 
has  refused  to  pardon  you.     There  is  nothing  left 
for  you  now  but  to  make  your  general  confession  and 
begin  your  lamentation.     Now,  what  feeling  moved 
the  judge  to  pass  this  sentence  upon  you?     Did  he 
^EJsh  to  rid  society  of  you,  as  when  one  kills  a  mad 
dog,  or  to  punish  you,   as  when  one  whips  a  bad 
boy?     In  the  first  place,   if  his  object   had  been 


220  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

simply  to  cut  you  off  from  society,  a  very  deep  cell 
with  a  very  thick  door  and  a  loop-hole  for  a  win- 
dow would  have  been  quite  sufficient.  Then  the 
judge  often  condemns  to  death  a  man  who  has  at- 
tempted to  commit  suicide,  and  to  prison  a  poor 
fellow  to  whom  he  knows  that  the  prison  will  be  a 
welcome  place  of  refuge.  Is  it  to  punish  them 
that  he  grants  these  two  good-for-nothings  precisely 
what  they  ask  for,  that  he  performs  for  one,  to 
whom  existence  is  a  torture,  an  operation  that  ends 
his  life,  and  that  he  gives  to  the  other,  who  has 
neither  bread  nor  a  roof  over  his  head,  a  place  of 
refuge?  The  judge  has  but  one  object  in  view.  By 
punishing  you  he  wants  to  frighten  those  who  would 
be  tempted  to  follow  your  example. 

"  'People,  look  out,  don't  kill,'  that's  all  the 
judge's  sentence  means.  If  you  could  substitute  a 
mannikin  for  yourself  who  looks  like  you  and  put  him 
under  the  knife,  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  the 
judge.  If  even  after  the  executioner  had  cut  off  your 
head  and  shown  it  to  the  people  he  could  resuscitate 
you,  I  am  very  sure  he  would  willingly  do  so.  For, 
after  all,  the  judge  is  a  good  man,  and  he  would 
not  like  to  have  his  cook  kill  a  chicken  before  his 
eyes. 

"They  cry  aloud,  and  you  proclaim  it  too,  that  it  is 
better  to  let  ten  guilty  men  go  unpunished  than  to 
condemn  one  innocent  man.  That's  the  most  de- 
plorable of  all  the  absurdities  to  which  modern  fash- 
ionable philanthropy  has  given  birth.  It  is  an  anti- 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON  221 

social  principle.  I,  for  my  part,  maintain  that  it  is 
better  to  condemn  ten  innocent  men  than  to  acquit  a 
single  guilty  man." 

At  these  words  all  the  guests  raised  a  great  out- 
cry against  my  uncle. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  am  not  joking. 
This  is  no  subject  for  laughter.  I  express  a  strong, 
firm,  a  long-settled  conviction.  The  whole  city  pities 
the  innocent  man  who  mounts  the  scaffold.  The 
newspapers  raise  lamentations,  and  your  poets 
make  him  the  martyred  hero  of  their  dramas.  But 
how  many  innocent  men  perish  in  your  rivers,  on 
your  highways,  in  your  mine  pits,  or  even  in  your 
workshops,  crushed  by  the  ferocious  teeth  of  your 
machines,  those  gigantic  animals  that  seize  a  man  by 
surprise  and  swallow  him  before  your  eyes,  without 
your  being  able  to  help  him.  Yet  their  death  hardly 
wrings  an  exclamation  from  you.  You  pass  by,  and 
after  you  have  gone  a  few  steps  you  think  no  more 
about  it.  You  even  don't  think  of  mentioning  it  to 
your  wife  at  dinner.  The  next  day  the  newspaper 
buries  him  in  a  corner  of  its  pages,  throws  over  his 
body  a  few  lines  of  heavy  prose,  and  all  is  ended. 
Why  this  indifference  for  one  and  this  superabund- 
ance of  pity  for  the  other?  Why  ring  the  funeral 
knell  of  the  one  with  a  little  bell  and  of  the  other 
with  a  big  one?  Is  a  jydge's  mistake  a  more  ter- 
rible accident  than  an  overturned  stage-coach  or 
a  deranged  machine?  Do  not  my  innocents  make 
as  big  a  hole  in  society  as  yours?  Do  they  not  leave 


222  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

the  wife  a  widow  and  the  children  orphans  as  well 
as  yours? 

"Undoubtedly  it  is  not  pleasant  to  go  to  the 
scaffold  for  another.  If  the  thing  should  happen  to 
me,  I  admit  I  should  be  very  much  annoyed.  But, 
in  relation  to  society  as  a  whole,  what  is  the  little 
blood  that  the  executioner  sheds?  A  drop  of  water 
oozing  out  of  a  reservoir,  a  blighted  acorn  falling 
,  from  an  oak.  The  condemnation  of  an  innocent 
man  by  a  judge  is  a  consequence  of  our  system  of 
justice,  just  as  the  fall  of  a  carpenter  from  the  top 
of  a  house  is  a  consequence  of  man  having  his  shelter 
under  a  roof.  Of  a  thousand  bottles  a  workman 
makes,  he  breaks  at  least  one.  Of  a  thousand  sen- 
tences a  judge  passes,  at  least  one  is  bound  to  be 
unjust.  It  is  an  evil  to  be  expected,  and  for  which 
there  is  no  possible  remedy  except  the  total  suppres- 
sion of  justice.  What  would  you  think  of  an  old 
woman  picking  over  beans  who  kept  all  the  rubbish 
because  she  was  afraid  she  might  throw  away  one 
good  bean?  Would  not  a  judge  be  acting  the  same 
way  who  acquitted  ten  guilty  men  for  fear  of  con- 
demning one  innocent  one? 

"Moreover,  the  condemnation  of  an  innocent  man 
is  a  rare  thing.  It  marks  an  epoch  in  the  annals  of 
justice.  It  is  almost  impossible  that  a  fortuitous 
concourse  of  circumstances  should  so  unite  against 
a  man  as  to  overwhelm  him  with  charges  which  he 
cannot  disprove.  And  even  in  such  a  case  I  main- 
tain that  there  is  in  the  attitude  of  an  accused  man, 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON          223 

in  his  look,  in  his  gesture,  in  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
elements  of  evidence  which  cannot  escape  the  judge. 
Besides,  the  death  of  an  innocent  man  is  only  an 
individual  misfortune,  while  the  acquittal  of  a  guilty 
man  is  a  public  calamity.  Crime  listens  at  the  doors 
of  your  court-room.  It  knows  what  is  going  on 
inside,  it  calculates  the  chances  of  safety  which  your 
indulgence  affords.  It  applauds  you  when,  through 
excess  of  caution,  it  sees  you  acquit  a  guilty  man, 
for  it  is  crime  itself  that  you  acquit.  Justice  should 
not  be  too  severe,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  But, 
when  it  is  too  indulgent,  it  abdicates,  it  destroys 
itself.  Men  predestined  to  crime  will  abandon  them- 
selves without  fear  to  their  instincts,  and  no  longer 
see  in  their  dreams  the  sinister  face  of  the  execu- 
tioner. No  longer  will  the  scaffold  rise  between  them 
and  their  victims.  They  will  take  your  money  if 
they  need  it,  and  your  life  if  it  stands  in  their  way. 
You  congratulate  yourself,  good  soul  that  you  are, 
on  having  saved  an  innocent  man  from  the  axe,  but 
you  have  caused  twenty  to  die  by  the  dagger.  So 
you  have  a  balance  of  nineteen  murders  against  your 
account. 

"And  now  I  come  back  to  the  prison.  To  inspire 
wholesome  terror,  the  prison  must  be  a  place  of 
misery  and  suffering.  Yet,  there  are  in  France  fif- 
teen million  men  who  are  more  miserable  in  their 
houses  than  the  prisoner  behind  the  bars.  'Too 
happy  if  he  but  knew  his  happiness,'  says  the  poet. 
That's  all  very  well  in  an  eclogue.  The  husband- 


224  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

man  is  the  mountain  thistle.  Not  a  ray  of  sunlight 
that  does  not  burn  him,  not  a  breath  of  the  north 
wind  that  does  not  bite  him,  not  a  downpour  of  rain 
that  does  not  drench  him.  He  toils  from  the  morn- 
ing angelus  till  the  evening  angelus.  He  has  an 
old  father,  and  he  cannot  soften  the  rigour  of  his 
old  age.  He  has  a  beautiful  wife,  and  he  can  give 
her  nothing  but  rags.  He  has  children,  a  hungry 
brood,  continually  calling  for  bread,  and  often  there 
is  not  a  crumb  in  the  bin.  The  prisoner,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  warmly  clad  and  sufficiently  fed.  He  does 
not  have  to  earn  his  bread  before  he  puts  it  in  his 
mouth.  He  laughs,  he  sings,  he  plays,  he  sleeps  on 
his  straw  as  long  as  he  likes,  and  yet  he  is  the  object 
of  public  pity.  Charitable  persons  organise  socie- 
ties to  make  his  prison  less  uncomfortable,  and  they 
do  it  so  well  that,  instead  of  being  a  punishment, 
imprisonment  becomes  a  reward.  Beautiful  ladies 
boil  his  pot  and  prepare  his  soup.  They  preach 
morality  to  him  with  white  bread  and  meat.  Surely 
this  man  will  prefer  the  careless  and  gay  captivity 
of  the  prison  to  the  pinching  liberty  of  the  fields  or 
the  shop.  The  prison  ought  to  be  the  hell  of  the 
city.  I  should  like  to  see  it  rise  in  the  middle  of  the 
public  square,  gloomy  and  robed  in  black  like  the 
judge.  Through  its  little  grated  windows  it  should 
cast  sinister  looks  at  the  passers-by.  From  within  its 
enclosures  there  should  issue,  not  songs,  but  only 
the  sound  of  clanking  chains  or  barking  dogs.  The 
old  man  should  be  afraid  to  rest  under  its  walls. 


A  BREAKFAST  IN  PRISON          225 

The  child  should  not  dare  to  play  within  its  shadow. 
The  belated  burgher  should  turn  out  of  his  way  and 
shun  it  as  be  shuns  the  graveyard.  Only  in  this 
way  will  you  obtain  from  the  prison  the  result  that 
you  expect  from  it." 

My  uncle  might  still  have  been  discussing,  had 
not  M.  Minxit  arrived  to  cut  short  his  argument. 
The  worthy  man  was  streaming  with  perspiration. 
He  gasped  for  breath  like  a  porpoise  stranded  on 
the  beach,  and  was  as  red  as  the  case  in  which  my 
uncle  carried  his  surgical  instruments. 

"Benjamin,"  he  cried,  mopping  his  forehead,  "I 
have  come  to  take  you  to  breakfast  with  me." 

"How  so,  Monsieur  Minxit?"  cried  all  the  guests 
together. 

"Why,  because  Benjamin  is  free.  That's  the  key 
to  the  whole  riddle.  Here,"  he  added,  pulling  a 
paper  from  his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  Boutron, 
"here  is  Bonteint's  discharge." 

"Bravo,  Monsieur  Minxit!" 

And  all  rose,  and,  glass  in  hand,  drank  to  M, 
Minxit's  health.  Machecourt  tried  to  get  up  but  he 
fell  back  on  his  chair.  Joy  almost  deprived  him  of 
his  senses.  Benjamin  chanced  to  cast  a  glance  at  him. 

"What,  Machecourt,"  exclaimed  Benjamin,  whose 
eyes  happened  to  fall  on  him  just  then,  "are  you 
mad?  Drink  to  Minxit's  health,  or  I'll  bleed  you  on 
the  spot." 

Machecourt  rose  mechanically,  emptied  his  glass 
at  one  swallow,  and  began  to  weep. 


226  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"My  good  Monsieur  Minxit,"  continued  Ben- 
jamin, "may  I— 

"All  right,  all  right!"  said  Minxit.  "I  get  you. 
You  are  making  ready  to  thank  me.  Poor  boy,  never 
mind.  I  herewith  absolve  you  of  the  onus.  It  is 
for  my  own  good  and  not  yours  that  I  have  taken 
you  out  of  here.  You  know  very  well  I  cannot  get 
along  without  you.  You  see,  gentlemen,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  all  our  actions,  no  matter  how  generous  they 
may  seem,  there  is  only  egoism.  It  may  not  be  a 
pleasant  maxim,  but  I  can't  help  it,  it's  true." 

"Monsieur  Boutron,"  said  Benjamin,  "is  Bon- 
teint's  discharge  in  proper  legal  form?" 

"I  see  nothing  the  matter  with  it  except  a  big 
blot  which  the  honest  cloth  dealer  has  doubtless 
added  by  way  of  a  flourish." 

"In  that  case,  gentlemen,"  said  Benjamin,  "permit 
me  to  go  to  my  dear  sister  to  announce  this  good 
news  to  her  myself." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Machecourt.  "I  want  to 
be  a  witness  of  her  joy.  Never  since  the  day  Gas- 
pard  came  into  the  world  have  I  been  so  happy." 

"Permit  me,"  said  M.  Minxit,  sitting  down  to 
table.  "Monsieur  Boutron,  another  plate!  Well, 
in  retaliation,  I  herewith  extend  my  invitation  to  you 
for  supper  at  Corvol  this  evening." 

This  proposition  was  received  with  acclamation 
by  all  the  guests.  After  breakfast  they  retired  to 
the  coffee-room  to  await  the  hour  of  parting. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL 

THE  waiter  came  to  tell  my  uncle  that  there  was 
an  old  woman  at  the  door  who  wanted  to  speak 
to  hrm. 

"Tell  her  to  come  in,"  said  Benjamin,  "and  give 
her  some  refreshments." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  waiter,  "but  you  see  the  old 
woman  is  not  at  all  inviting.  She  is  ragged,  and 
she  is  weeping  tears  as  big  as  my  little  finger." 

"She  is  weeping?"  cried  my  uncle.  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  that  at  once,  you  scamp?" 

And  he  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

The  old  woman  who  had  called  for  my  uncle  was 
really  shedding  big  tears,  which  she  wiped  away  with 
an  old  piece  of  red  calico. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  good  woman?"  said  Ben- 
jamin, in  a  tone  of  politeness  that  he  did  not  use 
toward  everyone.  "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"You  must  come  to  Sembert  to  see  my  sick  son," 
said  the  old  woman. 

"Sembert?  The  village  at  the  top  of  Monts-le- 
Duc?  Why,  that's  half  way  to  heaven!  All  right, 
I'll  call  to-morrow  afternoon." 

227 


228  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"If  you  don't  come  to-day,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"the  priest  will  be  there  with  his  black  cross  to- 
morrow. It  may  be  too  late  already.  My  son  has  a 
carbuncle." 

"That's  bad  both  for  your  son  and  for  me.  But 
why  don't  you  ask  Doctor  Arnout?  That  would  be 
best  all  around." 

"I  did  ask  him,  but  he  knows  we  are  poor  and 
that  he  will  not  be  paid  for  his  visits,  and  so  he 
doesn't  want  to  disturb  himself." 

"What,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  have  no  money  to 
pay  your  doctor?  That  puts  a  different  face  on  the 
matter.  Now  I'm  interested.  All  I'll  ask  you  is  to 
give  me  time  enough  to  empty  a  little  glass  I  have 
left  on  the  table,  then  I'll  go  with  you.  By  the  way, 
we'll  need  some  Peruvian  bark.  Here  is  a  little 
coin.  Go  to  Perier's  and  buy  a  few  ounces.  Tell 
him  I  didn't  have  time  to  write  a  prescription." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  my  uncle,  with  the  old 
woman  at  his  side,  was  trudging  up  those  unculti- 
vated and  savage  slopes  that  begin  the  faubourg  of 
Bethleem  and  terminate  in  the  broad  plateau  on  top 
of  which  is  perched  the  hamlet  of  Sembert. 

M.  Minxit  and  his  guests  departed  in  a  cart  drawn 
by  four  horses.  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  faubourg 
of  Beuvron  turned  out  and  stood  at  the  doorways 
with  candles  in  their  hand  to  see  them  pass.  It  was 
indeed  a  more  curious  phenomenon  than  an  eclipse. 
Arthus  was  singing,  "When  the  lights  are  lit," 
Guillerand,  "Marlbrough  has  gone  to  war,"  and  the 


A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL  229 

poet  Millot,  whom  they  had  fastened  to  one  of  the 
cart-stakes  because  he  didn't  seem  very  steady,  in- 
toned his  Christmas  Hymn.  M.  Minxit  prided  him- 
self on  his  magnificence.  He  gave  his  guests  a  mem- 
orable supper,  which  is  still  being  talked  about  at 
Corvol.  Unfortunately  he  was  so  prodigal  with  his 
toasts  that  his  guests  were  unable  to  raise  their 
glasses  when  they  reached  the  second  course. 

Meanwhile  Benjamin  arrived.  He  was  worn  out 
with  fatigue  and  in  a  humour  to  kill  everybody,  for 
his  patient  had  died  under  his  hands,  and  he  had 
fallen  two  times  on  the  road.  But  no  sorrow  or 
vexation  could  hold  its  own  with  Benjamin  before  a 
white  table-cloth  adorned  with  bottles.  So  he  sat 
down  to  table  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"Your  friends  are  milksops,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "I 
should  have  expected  greater  power  of  resistance 
from  sheriff's  officers,  manufacturers,  and  school- 
teachers. I  won't  even  have  the  satisfaction  of  offer- 
ing them  champagne.  Why,  look,  Machecourt 
doesn't  recognise  you,  and  Guillerand  is  holding  out 
his  snuff-box  instead  of  his  glass  to  Arthus." 

"What  do  you  expect?"  answered  Benjamin. 
"Not  everybody  has  your  strength,  Monsieur 
Minxit." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  worthy  man,  flattered  by  the 
compliment,  "but  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  all 
these  chicken-hearted  fellows?  I  haven't  enough 
beds  for  all  of  them,  and  they  are  in  no  condition  to 
go  back  tP  Clamecy  to-night," 


23o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"That  needn't  bother  you  any,"  said  my  uncle. 
"Have  some  straw  spread  in  your  barn,  and  as  fast 
as  they  fall  asleep,  have  them  carried  out  there.  To 
keep  them  from  catching  cold  put  the  big  straw  mat 
over  them  which  you  use  to  protect  the  bed  of 
radishes  from  the  frost." 

"You  are  right,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

He  sent  for  two  musicians,  put  them  under  the 
command  of  the  sergeant,  and  the  plan  proposed  by 
my  uncle  was  carried  out  to  the  letter.  Millot  soon 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  and  the  sergeant  swung  him 
over  his  shoulder  and  carried  him  off  as  if  he  were  a 
clock-case.  The  transportation  of  Rapin,  Parlanta, 
and  the  others  presented  no  serious  difficulties.  But 
when  it  came  to  Arthus  he  proved  to  be  so  heavy 
that  they  had  to  let  him  sleep  where  he  was.  As 
for  my  uncle,  he  emptied  his  last  bumper  of  cham- 
pagne, said  good-night  and  retired  to  the  barn  in  his 
turn. 

The  next  morning,  when  M.  Minxit's  guests  arose, 
they  looked  like  sugar-loaves  just  taken  out  of  their 
cases,  and  all  the  domestics  of  the  house  had  to 
be  put  to  work  to  remove  the  straw  from  their 
clothes.  After  breakfasting  off  the  second  course 
which  they  had  left  untouched  the  night  before, 
they  started  off  at  a  brisk  trot  with  their  four 
horses. 

They  would  have  reached  Clamecy  very  happily, 
but  for  a  little  accident  that  happened  on  the  way. 
The  horses,  overexcited  by  the  whip,  upset  the  cart 


A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL  231 

into  one  of  the  many  dirty  holes  that  dotted  the  road 
at  that  time,  and  they  all  fell  pell-mell  into  the  mud. 
The  poet  Millot,  hapless  as  ever,  found  himself  lying 
with  Arthus  on  top  of  him. 

Fortunately  for  his  coat,  Benjamin  had  remained 
at  Corvol.  That  day  M.  Minxit  entertained  at  din- 
ner all  the  celebrities  of  the  neighbourhood,  two 
noblemen  among  others.  One  of  these  illustrious 
guests  was  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  a  red  musketeer.  The 
other  was  a  musketeer  of  the  same  colour,  a  friend 
of  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  whom  he  had  invited  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  with  him  in  the  remains  of  his  castle. 
Now,  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  into  whose  confidence  we 
have  already  taken  our  readers,  would  not  have 
been  indisposed  to  repair  the  damages  of  his  decayed 
fortune  with  M.  Minxit's.  So  he  made  a  diligent 
pursuit  of  Arabella,  whom  he  had  his  eye  on, 
although  he  often  told  his  friends  that  she  was  an 
insect  hatched  in  urine.  Arabella  had  allowed  her-' 
self  to  be  taken  in  by  his  exaggeratedly  fine  manners. 
She  thought  him  far  handsomer  with  his  faded 
plumes  and  far  more  amiable  with  his  court  frip- 
pery than  my  uncle  with  his  unpretentious  wit  and 
his  red  coat.  But  M.  Minxit,  who  was  a  man  not 
only  of  wit,  but  of  common  sense,  did  not  share 
this  opinion  at  all.  Though  M.  de  Pont-Casse  had 
been  a  colonel,  he  would  not  let  him  have  his  daugh- 
ter. He  had  made  Benjamin  stay  for  dinner  to  give 
Arabella  an  opportunity  to  compare  her  two  adorers, 
which,  in  his  opinion,  could  not  result  to  the  mus- 


232  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

keteer's  advantage,  and  also  because  he  felt  confi- 
dent that  my  uncle  would  succeed  in  removing  the 
tinsel  of  the  two  noblemen  and  mortifying  their 
pride. 

While  waiting  for  dinner,  Benjamin  went  to  take 
a  walk  in  the  village.  As  he  left  M.  Minxit's  house, 
he  saw  a  pair  of  officers  walking  in  the  middle  of 
the  street.  They  looked  as*though  they  would  not 
have  turned  out  of  their  way  for  a  mail-coach,  and 
the  peasants  stared  at  them  in  amazement.  My  uncle 
was  not  a  man  to  pay  any  attention  to  so  small  'a 
matter.  But  as  he  passed  them,  he  heard  one  of 
them  say  very  distinctly  to  his  companion,  "Say, 
that  is  the  queer  chap  who  wants  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Minxit."  My  uncle's  first  impulse  was  to 
ask  them  why  they  thought  him  so  queer.  But  he 
reflected  that  it  would  be  scarcely  becoming  to  make 
a  spectacle  of  himself  before  the  inhabitants  of 
Corvol,  though  he  generally  cared  very  little  for 
the  proprieties.  So  he  acted  as  if  he  had  heard 
nothing,  and  walked  into  the  house  of  his  friend,  the 
notary. 

"I  have  just  met  two  creatures  in  the  street,"  he 
said,  "who  looked  like  lobsters  with  feathers  on 
them.  They  almost  insulted  me.  Can  you  tell  me 
to  what  family  of  the  Crustacea  these  queer  fellows 
belong?" 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  said  the  notary,  somewhat 
frightened.  "Don't  try  your  jokes  on  those  men. 
One  of  them,  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  is  the  most  dan- 


A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL  233 

gerous  duellist  of  our  age,  and  not  one  of  the  many 
who  have  taken  the  duelling-ground  against  him  has 
returned  from  it  whole." 

"We  shall  see,"  said  my  uncle. 

When  the  village  clock  struck  two,  he  took  his 
friend,  the  notary,  by  the  arm,  and  went  back  with 
him  to  M.  Minxit's.  The  company  was  already 
gathered  in  the  parlour,  and  they  were  only  waiting 
for  them  to  sit  down  at  table. 

The  two  country  squires,  who  acted  in  the  pres- 
ence of  these  rustics  as  though  they  were  in  a  con- 
quered country,  monopolised  the  conversation  from 
the  start.  M.  de  Pont-Casse  incessantly  kept  twirl- 
ing his  moustache,  and  talking  of  the  court,  of  his 
duels,  and  of  his  amorous  exploits.  Arabella,  who 
had  never  heard  such  magnificent  things,  was  very 
much  taken  with  his  conversation.  My  uncle  noticed 
it,  but,  as  Mademoiselle  Minxit  was  indifferent  to 
him,  he  thought  it  none  of  his  concern.  M.  de 
Pont-Casse,  piqued  at  his  failure  to  produce  an  effect 
upon  Benjamin,  addressed  some  remarks  to  him  that 
bordered  on  insolence.  But  my  uncle,  sure  of  his 
strength,  disdained  to  pay  any  attention  to  them, 
and  occupied  himself  exclusively  with  his  glass  and 
his  plate.  M.  Minxit  was  scandalised  by  the  non- 
chalant voracity  of  his  champion. 

"Don't  you  understand  what  M.  de  Pont-Casse 
means?"  cried  the  good  man.  "What  are  you  think- 
ing of,  Benjamin?" 

"Of  the  dinner,  Monsieur  Minxit.     And  I  advise 


234  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

you  to  do  the  same.     Isn't  that  what  you  invited 
us  for?" 

M.  de  Pont-Casse  had  too  much  pride  to  believe 
that  he  could  be  ignored.  He  took  my  uncle's 
silence  for  a  confession  of  his  inferiority  and  began 
a  more  direct  attack. 

"I  have  heard  you  called  de  Rathery,"  he  said  to 
Benjamin.  "I  used  to  know,  or  rather  I  have  seen 
— for  one  does  not  make  the  acquaintance  of  such 
people — a  Rathery  among  the  king's  hostlers.  Was 
he  a  relative  of  yours,  perhaps?"  x 

My  uncle  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  horse  struck 
with  a  whip. 

"M.  de  Pont-Casse,"  he  answered,  "the  Ratherys 
have  never  made  themselves  court  servants  in  any 
livery  whatsoever.  The  Ratherys  have  proud  souls, 
Monsieur.  They  will  eat  no  bread  except  what  they 
have  earned.  And  it  is  they  who,  with  a  few  mil- 
lions of  others,  pay  the  wages  of  those  flunkeys  of 
all  colours  who  go  under  the  name  of  cour- 
tiers." 

There  was  a  solemn  silence  in  the  company,  and 
everyone  gave  my  uncle  an  approving  look. 

"Monsieur  Minxit,"  he  added,  "may  I  have  an- 
other piece  of  that  hare-pie?  It  is  excellent.  I 
wager*  that  the  hare  of  which  it  is  made  was  not  a 
nobleman." 

"Monsieur,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse's  friend, 
assuming  a  martial  attitude,  "what  did  you  mean 
by  that  remark  about  a  hare?" 


A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL  235 

"I  meant  that  a  nobleman  would  not  be  any  good 
in  a  pie,  that's  all,"  answered  my  uncle  coldly, 

"Gentlemen,"  said  M,  Minxit,  "it  U  understood 
of  course  that  your  discussions  are  not  to  overstep 
the  limits  of  pleasantry." 

"Of  course,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Cassi  "Strictly 
speaking,  the  remarks  of  M.  de  Rathery  are  such  as, 
to  constitute  an  offence  to  two  officers  of  the  king, 
who  have  not  the  honour  to  be  of  the  plebeian  class 
like  himself.  From  his  red  coat  and  his  big  sword, 
I  at  first  took  him  for  one  of  ours,  and  I  still  tremble, 
like  the  man  who  came  near  taking  a  serpent  for  an 
eel,  when  I  think  that  I  came  near  fraternising  with 
him.  It  was  only  tlje  long  queue  dangling  over  his 
shoulders  that  undeceived  me." 

"Monsieur  de  Pont-Casse,"  cried  M.  Minxit,  "I 
will  not  allow " 

"Let  him  alone,  my  good  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said 
my  uncle.  "Insolence  is  the  weapon  of  those  who 
cannot  handle  the  flexible  rod  of  wit.  I  know  that 
I  have  no  occasion  to  reproach  myself  for  my  con- 
duct toward  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  for  I  have  not  yet 
paid  any  attention  to  him." 

"Good,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

The  musketeer,  who  prided  himself  on  being  a 
very  witty  fellow,  did  not  become  discouraged.  He 
knew  that  in  the  combats  of  wit  as  well  as  in  those 
of  the  sword  fortune  is  fickle. 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  he  continued,  "Monsieur 
surgeon  Rathery,  do  you  know  that  there  is  a  closer 


236  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

analogy  between  our  two  professions  than  you  think? 
I  would  bet  my  sorrel  horse  against  your  red  coat 
that  you  have  killed  more  people  this  year  than  I 
did  in  my  last  campaign." 

"You  would  win,  Monsieur  de  Pont-Casse,"  re- 
plied my  uncle  coolly.  "I  have  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  a  patient  this  year.  He  died  of  a  carbuncle 
yesterday." 

"Bravo,  Benjamin!  Hurrah  for  the  people!" 
cried  M.  Minxit,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  his 
joy.  "You  see,  my  nobleman,  the  people  of  wit  are 
not  all  in  court." 

"You  are  the  best  proof  of  that,  Monsieur 
Minxit,"  answered  the  musketeer,  disguising  the 
mortification  at  his  defeat  under  a  serene  counte- 
nance. 

Meantime,  all  the  guests,  except  the  two  noble- 
men, held  out  their  glasses  and  clinked  them  cor- 
dially with  Benjamin's. 

"To  the  health  of  Benjamin  Rathery,  the  avenger 
of  the  people,  the  misunderstood  and  the  insulted!" 
cried  M.  Minxit. 

The  dinner  lasted  far  into  the  evening.  My 
uncle  noticed  that  Mademoiselle  Minxit  had  disap- 
peared soon  after  the  departure  of  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse.  But  he  was  too  much  preoccupied  with  the 
praises  showered  upon  him  to  pay  any  attention  to 
his  fiancee.  About  ten  o'clock  he  took  leave  of  M. 
Minxit.  He  escorted  him  to  the  end  of  the  village, 
and  made  him  promise  that  the  marriage  should 


A  TRIP  TO  CORVOL  237 

take  place  within  a  week.  As  Benjamin  approached 
a  point  opposite  the  Trucy  mill,  a  sound  of  conver- 
sation reached  his  ears,  and  he  thought  he  could 
distinguish  the  voices  of  Arabella  and  her  illustrious 
adorer. 

Out  of  regard  for  Mademoiselle  Minxit,  Benja- 
min did  not  wish  to  surprise  her  on  a  country  road 
with  a  musketeer  at  that  hour  of  the  night.  He  hid 
himself  under  the  branches  of  a  large  walnut-tree, 
and  waited  for  the  two  lovers  to  pass  on  before  con- 
tinuing on  his  way.  He  had  no  desire  whatever  to 
steal  Arabella's  little  secrets,  but  the  wind  brought 
them  to  him,  and  he  had  to  overhear  them  in  spite 
of  himself. 

"I  know  a  way  of  making  him  pack  off,"  said  M. 
de  Pont-Casse.  "I  will  send  him  a  challenge." 

"I  know  him,"  answered  Arabella.  "He  is  a  man 
of  ungovernable  pride,  and  even  if  he  were  sure  of 
being  killed  on  the  spot,  he  would  accept." 

"So  much  the  better.  Then  I'll  rid  you  of  him 
forever." 

"Yes.  But  in  the  first  place  I  don't  want  to  be 
an  accomplice  in  a  murder,  and  secondly  my  father 
loves  that  man  perhaps  more  than  he  loves  me,  his 
only  daughter.  I  will  never  consent  to  your  killing 
my  father's  best  friend." 

"You  are  charming  with  your  scruples,  Arabella. 
I  have  killed  more  than  one  for  a  word  that  sounded 
bad  in  my  ears,  and  this  plebeian,  with  his  savage 
wit,  has  taken  a  cruel  revenge  on  me.  I  should  not 


238  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

like  everybody  at  court  to  know  what  was  said  to- 
night at  your  father's  table.  But  to  comply  with 
your  wishes,  I  will  content  myself  with  crippling  him. 
If  I  should  cut  the  cord  of  his  kneepan,  for  instance, 
you  would  have  sufficient  excuse  to  refuse  him  your 
hand." 

"But  suppose  you  should  fall  yourself,  Hector?" 
said  Mademoiselle  Minxit  in  her  tenderest  voice. 

"I  who  have  sent  to  Hades  the  best  swordsmen 
of  the  army — the  brave  Bellerive,  the  terrible 
Desrivieres,  the  formidable  Chateaufort — I  fall  by 
a  surgeon's  rapier!  You  insult  me  by  entertaining 
such  a  doubt,  my  beautiful  Arabella.  I  am  as  sure 
of  my  sword  as  you  of  your  needles.  Don't  you 
know  that?  Tell  me  the  place  where  you  would 
like  me  to  strike  him,  and  I  will  be  delighted  to 
serve  you." 

The  voices  were  lost  in  the  distance.  My  uncle 
left  his  hiding-place,  and  calmly  resumed  his  journey 
to  Clamecy,  revolving  over  in  his  mind  the  course 
he  should  pursue. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHAT  MY  UNCLE  SAID  TO  HIMSELF  REGARDING 
DUELLING 

"M.  DE  PONT-CASSE  wants  to  cripple  me.  He 
promised  Mademoiselle  Minxit  that  he  would,  and  a 
valiant  officer  of  the  Guards  is  not  the  man  to  break 
his  word. 

"Let  me  think  what  I  am  to  do  in  the  circum- 
stances. Shall  I  let  myself  be  crippled  by  M.  de 
Pont-Casse  with  the  docility  of  a  dog  under  the 
scalpel,  or  shall  I  decline  the  honour  he  graciously 
intends  to  bestow  upon  me?  It  is  to  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse's  interest  that  I  should  go  upon  crutches.  I 
know  it  is,  but  I  don't  exactly  see  why  I  should  do 
him  that  favour.  Mademoiselle  Minxit  makes  very 
little  difference  to  me  even  though  she  is  equipped 
with  a  dowry  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  But  I 
care  very  much  for  the  symmetry  of  my  figure,  and 
without  flattery  to  myself  I  am  good-looking  enough 
for  this  concern  of  mine  not  to  seem  ridiculous.  You 
say  a  man  challenged  to  a  duel  must  fight.  But 
please  tell  me,  in  what  code  of  laws  do  you  find  it 
written?  In  the  Pandects,  in  Charlemagne's  Capitu- 
laries, in  the  ten  commandments,  or  in  the  canons 

239 


240  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

of  the  Church?  And  in  the  first  place,  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse,  are  you  and  I  an  even  match?  Yoit  are  a 
musketeer  and  I  am  a  doctor.  You  are  an  artist  in 
fencing,  and  I  scarcely  know  how  to  handle  any- 
thing but  the  bistoury  or  the  lancet.  You  feel  no 
more  scruple,  it  seems,  in  depriving  a  man  of  a  limb 
than  in  tearing  off  a  fly's  wing,  while  I  have  a  horror 
of  blood,  especially  arterial  blood.  Wouldn't  it  be 
as  ridiculous  for  me  to  accept  your  challenge  as  if 
I  were  to  try  to  walk  a  tight  rope  upon  the  challenge 
of  an  acrobat,  or  try  to  swim  across  an  arm  of  the 
sea  upon  the  challenge  of  a  swimming  teacher?  And 
even  though  the  chances  between  us  were  equal,  one 
reckons  on  something  to  be  gained  in  such  affairs. 
Now,  if  I  kill  you,  what  shall  I  gain?  And  if  I  am 
killed  by  you,  then  what  shall  I  gain?  You  see,  in 
either  case  it  would  be  a  bad  bargain  for  me.  But, 
you  repeat,  where  a  man  is  challenged  to  a  duel  he 
must  fight.  What,  if  a  highwayman  stops  me  at  the 
edge  of  a  wood,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  making  my 
escape  with  the  aid  of  my  good  legs;  but  when  a 
drawing-room  murderer  sticks  a  challenge  under  my 
nose,  must  I  feel  myself  in  duty  bound  to  throw 
myself  upon  the  point  9f  his  sword? 

"When  an  individual  whose  acquaintance  you  have 
made  from  having  accidentally  stepped  on  his  toe, 
writes:  'Monsieur,  be  present  at  such  and  such  an 
hour,  at  such  and  such  a  spot,  so  that  I  may  have  the 
satisfaction  of  killing  you  to  atone  for  the  insult  you 
offered  me,'  one  must,  in  your  opinion,  submit  to  his 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  241 

orders,  and  also  take  good  care  not  to  keep  him 
waiting.  Strange!  There  are  men  who  would  not 
risk  a  thousand  francs  to  save  their  friend's  honour 
or  their  father's  life,  who  yet  risk  their  own  life  in  a 
duel  on  account  of  an  ambiguous  word  or  a  side 
glance.  But  what  is  life?  Isn't  it  the  one  blessing 
without  which  all  others  are  of  little  consequence? 
Or  is  it  a  rag  to  be  thrown  to  the  passing  rag-picker, 
or  a  worn  coin  to  be  tossed  to  the  blind  man  singing 
beneath  your  window?  They  ask  me  to  stake  my 
life  in  a  game  of  swords  with  M.  de  Pont-Casse, 
whereas,  if  I  should  stake  a  hundred  francs  in  a  game 
of  cards  with  him,  my  reputation  would  be  ruined 
and  the  poorest  cobbler  would  not  have  me  for  a 
son-in-law.  Then,  according  to  their  views,  am  I  to 
be  more  prodigal  of  my  life  than  of  my  money  ?  And 
must  I,  who  pride  myself  on  being  a  philosopher, 
regulate  my  convictions  according  to  those  of  such 
casuists? 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  who  constitutes  this  public 
which  takes  it  upon  itself  to  judge  our  actions?  Gro- 
cers who  use  false  scales,  cloth  merchants  who  give 
false  measure,  tailors  who  make  dresses  for  their 
children  out  of  their  customers'  goods,  men  of  prop- 
erty who  live  by  usury,  mothers  of  families  who  have 
lovers;  in  short,  a  heap  of  crickets  and  grasshop- 
pers who  know  not  what  they  sing,  simpletons  who 
say  yes  and  no  without  knowing  why,  a  tribunal  of 
blockheads  incapable  of  giving  reasons  for  their 
decisions.  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  in  me  if  I,  a 


24?-  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

doctor,  should  send  a  patient  suffering  with  hydro- 
phobia to  Ardennes  to  kneel  at  the  shrine  of  St. 
Hubert  because  those  fools  believe  the  great  saint 
can  cure  the  rabies.  And  then  observe  those  who 
pride  themselves  on  being  the  wisest,  and  you  will 
see  how  illogical  they  are.  The  philosophers  wax 
indignant  over  the  poor  wives  in  India  who"  throw 
themselves  alive,  decked  in  all  their  finery,  on  their 
husbands'  funeral-piles.  And  when  two  men  cut  each 
other's  throats  for  a  mere  nothing,  they  glorify  them 
for  their  bravery. 

"You  say  I  am  a  coward  when  I  have  the  good 
sense  to  decline  a  challenge.  But  what  do  you  take 
cowardice  to  be?  If  cowardice  means  avoiding 
needless  danger,  where  will  you  find  a  courageous 
man?  Who  of  you  remains  calmly  dreaming  in  bed 
when  the  roof  is  in  flames  over  your  head?  Who 
does  not  call  the  doctor  in  when  he  is  seriously  ill? 
Who  does  not  clutch  at  the  bushes  on  the  banks 
when  he  falls  into  the  river?  Once  more,  what  is 
the  public?  A  coward  preaching  bravery  to  others. 
Suppose  M.  de  Pont-Casse  were  to  challenge,  not 
me,  Benjamin  Rathery,  but  the  public  to  fight  a  duel, 
how  many  in  the  crowd  would  have  the  courage  to 
accept? 

"Besides,  has  a  philosopher  any  other  public  to 
consider  than  men  of  thought  and  superior  intelli- 
gence? And  don't  men  of  intelligence  consider  the 
duel  the  most  absurd,  the  most  barbarous  of  preju- 
dices? What  does  the  logic  learned  in  the  duelling 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  243 

academy  prove?  A  well-delivered  sword  thrust  is  a 
magnificent  argument,  is  it  not?  Parry  tierce,  parry 
quarte — now  you  can  demonstrate  anything  you  like. 
A  great  pity  that  when  the  pope  declared  that  the 
revolution  of  the  earth  was  a  heretical  doctrine, 
Galileo  did  not  think  of  challenging  His  Holiness  to 
a  duel  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  discovery. 

"In  the  Middle  Ages  there  was  at  least  a  genuine 
reason  for  duelling.  It  sprang  from  the  religious 
beliefs.  Our  grandparents  thought  God  too  just  to 
allow  an  innocent  man  to  fall  under  the  blows  of  a 
guilty  man,  and  the  issue  of  the  combat  was  regarded 
as  a  decree  from  on  high.  But  how  can  we,  who, 
thank  Heaven,  have  recovered  from  those  absurd 
ideas,  justify  the  duel?  And  what  purpose  can  it 
serve  now? 

"You  dread  the  charge  of  cowardice  if  you  de- 
cline a  challenge.  But  how  about  those  wretches 
who  make  murder  a  profession  and  challenge  you 
because  they  feel  sure  of  killing  you?  What  of 
their  courage?  How  courageous  is  the  butcher  who 
kills  a  sheep  with  its  feet  bound,  or  the  huntsman 
who  fires  at  a  hare  in  the  warren  or  at  a  bird  singing 
on  the  branch?  I  have  known  many  of  these  people 
to  be  too  timid  to  have  a  tooth  pulled.  And  how 
many  of  them  would  dare  to  stand  up  against  the 
will  of  the  man  upon  whom  they  are  dependent  to 
satisfy  their  consciences?  I  can  understand  why  the 
cannibalistic  Southsea  Islander  kills  men  of  his  own 
colour.  He  roasts  them  nice  and  brown  and  eats 


244  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

them.  But  you,  friend  duellist,  with  what  sauce 
will  you  eat  the  body  of  the  man  you  challenge  after 
you  have  killed  him?  You  are  guiltier  than  the  mur- 
derer sentenced  to  death  by  hanging.  He  at  least 
was  driven  to  murder  by  poverty.  In  doing  what 
he  did  he  may  have  been  moved  by  a  sentiment 
praiseworthy  in  itself  but  deplorable  in  its  conse- 
quences. But  you — what  motive  puts  the  sword  in 
your  hand?  Is  it  vanity,  or  an  appetite  for-blood,  or 
curiosity  to  see  how  a  man  writhes  in  the  death- 
agony?  Can't  you  picture  to  yourself  the  wife 
throwing  herself  half-crazed  with  grief  on  her  hus- 
band's body,  the  orphaned  children  crying  in  the 
house  draped  with  black,  the  mother  praying  God 
to  take  her  instead  of  her  son  in  the  coffin?  Yet  it 
is  you  who  have  acted  like  a  tiger  and  caused  all  that 
misery!  You  want  to  kill  us  if  we  don't  recognise 
you  as  a  man  of  honour !  But  you  are  not  worthy 
of  the  name  of  man.  You  are  a  brute  thirsting  for 
blood,  a  viper  stinging  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  use- 
less killing.  And  even  the  viper  does  not  attack 
creatures  of  its  own  kind.  When  your  adversary 
has  fallen,  you  kneel  in  the  blood-stained  mud,  you 
try  to  staunch  the  wounds  you  made,  you  act  as  if 
you  were  his  best  friend.  Then  why  did  you  kill 
him,  wretch?  What  good  are  your  pangs  of  con- 
science? Will  your  tears  replace  the  blood  that  you 
have  shed?  You,  fashionable  assassin,  correct  mur- 
derer, you  find  men  to  shake  hands  with  you,  mothers 
of  families  to  invite  you  to  their  parties.  Women 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  245 

who  faint  at  the  sight  of  the  executioner  arc  ready 
to  press  their  lips  to  yours  and  let  your  head  rest  on 
their  bosom.  But  these  men  and  women,  to  be  sure, 
judge  things  only  by  their  names.  If  a  man  is  killed 
by  what  is  called  murder,  they  are  horrified.  If  he 
is  killed  by  what  is  called  a  duel,  they  applaud. 
After  all,  how  much  time  have  you  in  which  to  enjoy 
this  applause?  Up  on  high  'Murderer'  is  inscribed 
after  your  name.  On  your  brow  is  a  blood-stain 
which  all  the  kisses  of  your  mistresses  will  not  re- 
move. No  judge  on  earth  has  sentenced  you ;  but  up 
in  heaven  there  is  a  judge  awaiting  you  who  will  not 
be  fooled  by  talk  of  honour.  I  for  my  part  am  a 
doctor,  not  to  kill,  but  to  cure,  do  you  hear,  M.  de 
Pont-Casse?  If  you  have  too  much  blood  in  your 
veins,  I  can  rid  you  of  some,  but  only  with  the  point 
of  my  lancet." 

Thus  my  uncle  reasoned  with  himself.  We  shall 
soon  see  how  he  put  his  doctrines  into  practice. 

Night  does  not  always  bring  good  counsel.  My 
uncle  rose  the  next  day  determined  not  to  yield  to 
M.  de  Pont-Casse's  provocation,  and  to  end  the  ad- 
venture as  soon  as  possible,  he  started  for  Corvol 
that  very  day.  Perhaps  he  had  not  breakfasted,  or 
did  not  perspire  freely  enough,  or  was  suffering 
from  indigestion  of  the  day  before.  However  that 
might  be,  he  felt  an  unusual  melancholy  creeping 
over  him  in  spite  of  himself.  In  a  very  pensive  mood, 
like  Racine's  Hippolyte,  he  mounted  the  terraced 
slopes  of  the  mountain  of  Beaumont.  His  noble 


246  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

sword,  which  generally  hung  so  straight  at  his  side, 
its  point  threatening  the  ground,  now  drooped 
mournfully,  as  if  sharing  its  master's  thoughts.  His 
three-cornered  hat,  which  usually  sat  so  proudly  on 
his  head,  tilted  a  bit  to  the  left,  now  hung  anxiously 
on  his  neck,  as  if  in  a  melancholy  mood,  and  his 
bright  eyes  were  dimmed.  It  moved  him  to  look 
down  on  the  valley  of  the  Beuvron,  stretching  away 
stiff  and  shivering  at  his  feet,  at  those  large  walnut 
trees  in  mourning  which  looked  like  huge  polyps,  at 
those  tall  poplars  with  but  a  few  red  leaves  on  them 
left,  at  the  flocks  of  ravens  sometimes  fluttering 
about  their  tops,  at  that  wild  copse  browned  by  the 
frost,  at  the  dark  stream  that  flowed  toward  the 
mill-wheels  between  banks  of  snow;  at  the  round 
tower  of  La  Postaillerie,  grey  and  misty  as  though 
a  column  made  of  clouds,  at  the  old  feudal  castle  of 
Pressure,  which  seemed  to  crouch  among  the  brown 
reeds  of  its  moats  like  a  creature  in  a  fever,  at  the 
village  chimneys  with  the  thin  light  smoke,  like  a 
man's  breath  when  he  blows  on  his  fingers,  curling 
up  from  them.  The  tic-tac  of  the  mill,  that  friend 
with  which  he  had  conversed  so  often  on  his  way 
back  from  Corvol  in  the  fine  moonlight  nights  of 
autumn,  had  a  sinister  sound.  It  seemed  to  jerk 
out: 

"Carrying  your  sword,  my  brave, 
You  are  walking  to  your  grave." 

To  which  my  uncle  replred : 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  247 

"You  babbler,  for  God's  sake,  be  still  I 
I  do  whatever  is  my  will. 
And  if  I  die  before  my  turn, 
It's  no  one  else's  damn  concern." 

There  was  something  sickly  about  the  weather. 
Huge  white  clouds,  driven  by  the  north  wind,  crept 
clumsily  across  the  sky,  like  a  wounded  swan.  The 
snow  was  as  grey  as  the  day,  and  the  horizon  was 
girdled  in  by  a  line  of  fog  hanging  on  the  mountains. 
My  uncle  felt  that  he  never  again  would  see  that 
landscape,  now  in  its  winter  shroud,  lighted  up  by 
the  gay  spring  sunshine  or  festooned  with  flowers. 

M.  Minxit  was  absent  when  my  uncle  arrived  at 
Corvol.  He  entered  the  drawing-room,  where  he 
found  M.  de  Pont-Casse  seated  upon  a  sofa  beside 
Arabella.  Without  paying  any  attention  to  his  be- 
trothed's  pouting  or  to  the  musketeer's  provocative 
manner,  Benjamin  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair, 
crossed  his  legs,  and  laid  his  hat  on  a  chair,  like  a 
man  in  no  hurry  to  go.  After  talking  for  a  while  of 
M.  Minxit's  health,  the  probabilities  of  a  thaw,  and 
the  grippe,  Arabella  turned  silent,  and  my  uncle 
could  get  nothing  out  of  her  beyond  a  few  sharp, 
shrill  monosyllables,  like  the  notes  that  a  learner 
elicits  from  his  clarinette  with  difficulty  and  at  rare 
intervals.  M.  de  Pont-Casse  walked  up  and  down 
the  drawing-room,  twirling  ""his  moustache,  his  big 
spurs  clanking  on  the  wooden  floor,  apparently 
pondering  how  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  my  uncle. 

Benjamin   divined  his  intentions,   but  pretended 


24$  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

not  to  notice  him,  and  picked  up  a  book  lying  on 
a  sofa.  At  first  he  contented  himself  with  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves,  watching  M.  de  Pont-Casse 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye;  but  as  it  was  a 
medical  work,  he  soon  became  absorbed  in  its  inter- 
esting contents  and  forgot  the  musketeer.  M.  de 
Pont-Casse,  however,  decided  to  bring  things  to  a 
crisis.  He  halted  before  my  uncle,  and  said,  sur- 
veying him  from  head  to  foot : 

"Do  you  know,  Monsieur,  you  pay  very  long 
visits  here?" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  answered  my  uncle,  "that  you 
came  before  I  did." 

"And  also  very  frequent,"  added  the  musketeer. 

"I  assure  you,  Monsieur,"  replied  my  uncle,  "they 
would  be  much  less  frequent  if  I  expected  to  find 
you  here  each  time." 

"If  you  come  here  on  Mademoiselle  Minxit's  ac- 
count," continued  the  musketeer,  "she  begs  you 
through  me  to  rid  her  of  your  long  person." 

"If  Mademoiselle  Minxit,  who  is  not  a  musketeer, 
had  any  orders  to  give  me,  she  would  give  them 
more  politely.  At  any  rate,  Monsieur,  you  will  allow 
me  to  wait  before  retiring  until  she  has  spoken  to  me 
herself  and  until  I  have  interviewed  M.  Minxit." 

And  my  uncle  went  on  with  his  reading. 

The  officer  took  several  more  turns  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, then  stood  himself  opposite  my  uncle  and 
said: 

"I    pray   you,    Monsieur,    kindly   interrupt   your 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  249 

reading  a  moment,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to 
you." 

"Since  it  is  only  one  word,"  said  my  uncle,  turning 
down  the  page  he  was  reading,  "I  can  spend  a  mo- 
ment listening  to  you." 

M.  de  Pont-Casse  was  infuriated  by  Benjamin's 
coolness. 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  he,  "if  you  do  not  leave 
this  instant  by  the  door,  I  will  put  you  out  through 
the  window." 

"Really !  Well,  I,  Monsieur,  shall  be  politer  than 
you.  I  shall  put  you  out  by  the  door." 

And  taking  the  officer  by  the  waist,  Benjamin  car- 
ried him  to  the  head  of  the  steps  and  locked  the  door 
behind  him. 

Mademoiselle  Minxit  sat  there  trembling,  and  my 
uncle  said: 

"Do  not  be  too  much  afraid  of  me.  I  was  justified 
in  treating  that  man  that  way.  He  has  insulted  me 
repeatedly.  Besides,"  he  added,  bitterly,  "I  shall 
not  embarrass  you  long  with  my  long  person.  I  am 
not  one  of  those  dowry-hunters  who  take  a  woman 
from  the  arms  of  the  man  she  loves  and  keep  her 
fastened  to  their  bedstead.  Heaven  has  granted 
every  young  girl  her  share  of  love.  She  has  the 
right  to  choose  the  man  upon  whom  she  wishes  to 
bestow  it.  No  one  has  the  right  to  pour  the  white 
pearls  of  her  youth  into  the  street  and  trample  them 
under  foot.  God  forbid  thnt  low  oreed  for  money 
should  lead  me  to  do  anything  bad.  So  far  I  have 


250  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

been  a  poor  man.  I  know  the  joys  of  poverty,  and  I 
am  ignorant  of  the  miseries  of  wealth.  Probably  I 
should  be  making  a  bad  bargain  if  I  exchanged  my 
wild  jolly  indigence  for  ill-tempered  opulence.  At 
any  rate,  I  should  not  like  a  woman  who  detested 
me  to  bring  me  opulence.  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  in  all 
sincerity  whether  you  love  M.  de  Pont-Casse.  I 
must  have  your  reply  in  order  to  determine  my  con- 
duct toward  you  and  your  father." 

Mademoiselle  Minxit  was  moved. 

"Had  I  known  you  before  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  per- 
haps you  would  be  the  one  I  love." 

"Mademoiselle,"  interrupted  my  uncle,  "it  is  not 
politeness,  but  sincerity  that  I  ask  of  you.  Tell  me 
frankly,  do  you  think  you  would  be  happier  with 
M.  de  Pont-Casse  than  with  me?" 

"What  shall  I  say,  Monsieur  Rathery?"  answered 
Arabella.  "A  woman  is  not  always  happy  with  the 
man  she  loves,  but  she  is  always  unhappy  with  the 
man  she  does  not  love." 

"I  thank  you,  Mademoiselle.  Now  I  know  what 
I  have  to  do.  Will  you  kindly  order  some  lunch 
for  me?  The  stomach  is  an  egoist  with  little  sym- 
pathy for  the  tribulations  of  the  heart." 

My  uncle  ate  as  Alexander  or  Caesar  might 
have  eaten  on  the  eve  of  battle.  He  did  not 
want  to  await  M.  Minxit's  return.  He  had  not 
the  courage  to  face  his  mournful  look  when  he 
should  learn  that  he,  Benjamin,  whom  he  treated 
almost  as  a  son,  declined  to  be  his  son-in-law.  He 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING   251 

preferred  to  inform  him  of  his  heroic  determination 
by  letter. 

At  some  distance  from  the  town  he  saw  M.  de 
Pont-Casse's  friend  walking  up  and  down  the  road 
majestically.  The  musketeer  advanced  to  meet  him, 
and  said: 

"Monsieur,  you  keep  those  who  demand  repara- 
tion of  you  waiting  a  very  long  time." 

"I  was  having  lunch,"  answered  my  uncle. 

"In  behalf  of  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  I  have  to  hand 
you  a  letter  to  which  he  has  charged  me  to  bring  back 
a  reply." 

"Let  us  see  what  the  worthy  nobleman  has  to  say 
to  me.  'Monsieur,  in  view  of  the  enormity  of  the 
outrage  you  inflicted  upon  me' — What  outrage?  I 
carried  him  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  steps.  I 
wish  some  one  would  outrage  me  the  same  way  by 
carrying  me  to  Clamecy — 'I  consent  to  cross  swords 
with  you.' — The  great  soul!  He  condescends  to 
grant  me  the  favour  of  being  crippled  by  him!  If 
that  is  not  magnanimity,  then  I  don't  know  what 
magnanimity  is ! — 'I  hope  you  will  show  yourself 
worthy  of  the  honoui  I  do  you  by  accepting.' — Why, 
of  course !  It  would  be  base  ingratitude  on  my  part 
to  refuse.  You  may  say  to  your  friend  that  if  he 
kills  me  like  the  brave  Desrivieres,  the  intrepid 
Btllerive,  etc.,  1  wish  them  to  inscribe  my  tombstone 
in  letters  of  gold  with,  'Here  lies  Benjamin  Rathery, 
killed  in  a  duel  by  a  nobleman.' — 'Postscript.' — 
Just  see,  your  friend's  note  has  a  postscript. — 'I 


252  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

will  await  you  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing at  the  place  known  as  Chaume-des-Fertiaux.'—- 
At  the  place  known  as  Chaume-des-Fertiaux.  Upon 
my  honour,  a  process-server  could  not  have  drawn 
it  up  better.  But  Chaume-des-Fertiaux  is  a  good 
league  from  Clamecy.  I,  who  have  no  sorrel  horse, 
haven't  got  the  time  to  go  so  far  to  fight.  If  your 
friend  will  condescend  to  meet  me  at  the  place  known 
as  Croix-des-Michelins,  I  shall  have  the  honour  to 
await  him  there." 

"And  where  is  this  Croix-des-Michelins?" 
"On  the  Corvol  road,  beyond  the  faubourg  of 
Beuvron.  Your  friend  must  be  a  sour  sort  of  person 
if  he  does  not  like  the  spot.  From  there  you  get  a 
view  for  a  king  to  enjoy.  In  the  foreground  are  the 
hills  of  Sembert  with  their  terraces  loaded  with  vines, 
their  big  bald  pates  and  the  forest  of  Frace  on  their 
necks.  At'  another  season  of  the  year  the  view  would 
be  still  finer,  but  unfortunately  I  cannot  revive 
springtime  with  a  breath.  At  the  foot  of  the  hills 
lies  the  town,  with  its  thousand  curls  of  smoke, 
pressed  between  the  two  rivers  and  climbing  the 
steep  slopes  of  Crot-Pin^on  like  a  hunted  man.  If 
your  friend  has  any  talent  for  drawing,  he  can  adorn 
his  album  with  a  picture  of  this  view.  From  up 
between  the  great  gables,  that  in  their  moss  cover- 
ings look  like  pieces  of  crimson  velvet,  rises  the 
tower  of  Saint  Martin,  turreted  and  decorated  with 
its  stone  jewels.  The  tower  in  itself  is  worth  a 
cathedral.  Alongside  extends  the  old  basilica,  with 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  253 

great  bold  arched  counter-forts  on  the  right  and  the 
left.  Your  friend  will  instinctively  compare  it  to  a 
gigantic  spider.  Toward  the  south  run  the  bluish 
mountains  of  Morvan,  like  a  succession  of  sombre 
clouds.  Then " 

"Oh,  enough  of  your  joking,  please!  I  did  not 
come  here  to  have  you  show  me  a  magic  lantern. 
To-morrow,  then,  at  Croix-des-Michelins." 

"To-morrow?  One  moment,  the  affair  is  not  so 
pressing  that  it  cannot  be  postponed.  To-morrow  I 
am  going  to  Dornecy  to  taste  a  cask  of  old  wine  that 
Page  is  thinking  of  buying.  He  relies  on  my  judg- 
ment as  to  quality  and  price,  and  you  must  realise 
that  for  your  friend's  sake  I  cannot  fail  in  the  duties 
of  friendship.  Day  after  to-morrow  I  am  invited  to 
lunch  in  town.  I  cannot,  in  decency,  give  the  pref- 
erence to  a  duel.  Thursday  I  am  to  tap  a  patient  of 
mine  who  has  the  dropsy.  As  your  friend  wishes  to 
cripple  me,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  per- 
form the  operation  afterward,  and  Doctor  Arnout 
would  make  a  bad  job  of  it.  For  Friday — oh,  yes, 
Friday's  a  fast  day.  I  believe  I  have  no  engagement 
for  Friday,  and  I  know  of  nothing  to  prevent  me 
from  being  at  your  friend's  disposal." 

"We  are  obliged  to  comply  with  your  desires;  at 
least,  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  bring  a  second 
with  you,  in  order  to  save  me  from  playing  the  tire- 
some role  of  spectator." 

"Why  not?  I  know  you  are  friends,  you  and 
M.  de  Pont-Casse,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  sepa- 


254  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

rate  you.  I  will  bring  my  barber,  if  he  has  time 
and  if  it  suits  you." 

"Insolent  fellow!"  said  the  musketeer. 

"This  barber,"  answered  my  uncle,  "is  not  a  man 
to  be  despised.  He  has  a  rapier  long  enough  to  spit 
four  musketeers  upon.  Besides,  if  you  prefer,  I  will 
willingly  take  his  place." 

"I  take  note  of  your  words,"  said  the  musketeer. 

My  uncle,  as  soon  as  he  rose  the  next  day,  went 
in  search  of  Machecourt's  inkstand,  and  began  to 
indite  a  magnificent  epistle  to  M.  Minxit  in  his  finest 
style  and  best  penmanship,  explaining  why  he  could 
not  become  his  son-in-law.  My  grandfather,  who 
was  given  the  privilege  of  reading  it,  told  me  it 
would  have  made  a  jailer  weep.  If  the  exclamation 
point  had  not  then  existed,  my  uncle  would  certainly 
have  invented  it.  The  letter  had  been  in  the  post- 
office  scarcely  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  M.  Minxit 
arrived  at  my  grandmother's  in  person,  accompa- 
nied by  the  sergeant,  who  was  himself  accompanied 
by  two  masks,  two  foils,  and  his  honourable  poodle. 

Benjamin  was  just  then  breakfasting  with  Mache- 
court  off  a  herring  and  the  patrimonial  white  wine  of 
Choulot. 

"Welcome,  Monsieur  Minxit!"  cried  Benjamin. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  a  bit  of  this  fish?" 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  thrasher?" 

"And  you,  sergeant?" 

"I  have  given  up  such  things  since  I  had  the  honour 
to  join  the  band." 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  255 

"But  your  dog,  what  would  he  think  of  this 
head?" 

"I  thank  you  for  him,  but  I  believe  he  doesn't 
care  for  sea-fish." 

"I  admit  a  herring  is  not  as  good  as  pike  boiled 
in " 

"And  how  about  carp,  especially  carp  cooked  with 
Burgundy  wine?"  interrupted  M.  Minxit. 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Benjamin.  "Or 
hare  that  you  yourself  have  prepared.  However, 
herring  is  excellent  when  you  haven't  anything  else. 
By  the  way,  I  mailed  a  letter  to  you  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  ago.  You  probably  have  not  received  it  yet, 
Monsieur  Minxit?" 

"No,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "but  I  come  to  bring  you 
the  answer.  You  say  Arabella  does  not  love  you, 
and  for  that  reason  you  will  not  marry  her." 

"M.  Rathery  is  right,"  said  the  sergeant.  "I  had 
a  bed-fellow  who  couldn't  bear  me.  And  I  couldn't 
bear  him.  Our  household  was  a  regular  police-sta- 
tion. When  one  of  us  wanted  turnips  in  the  soup, 
the  other  one  put  carrots  in.  At  the  canteen,  if  I 
asked  for  currant  wine,  he  sent  for  gin.  We  quar- 
relled over  the  best  place  to  keep  our  guns  in.  If  he 
had  a  kick  to  give,  it  was  my  poodle  that  was  sure 
to  get  it,  and  if  a  flea  bit  him,  he  insisted  it  came 
from  poor  Azor.  Just  think,  we  once  fought  in 
the  moonlight  because  he  wanted  to  sleep  on  the 
right  side  of  the  bed,  and  I  insisted  on  his  taking 
the  left  side.  The  only  thing  I  could  do  to  get 


256  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

rid   of   him    was    to    send   him    to    the    hospital.'' 

"You  did  quite  right,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle. 
"When  people  do  not  know  how  to  live  in  this  world, 
we  sentence  them  to  the  other  forever." 

"There  is  some  truth  in  what  the  sergeant  says," 
said  M.  Minxit.  "To  be  loved  is  more  than  to  be 
rich.  It  means  happiness.  Consequently,  I  do  not 
disapprove  of  your  scruples,  my  dear  Benjamin.  All 
I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  continue  to  come  to  Corvol, 
as  you  have  been  doing.  Your  not  wanting  to  be 
my  son-in-law  is  no  reason  for  ceasing  to  be  my 
friend.  You  need  no  longer  pay  Arabella  pretty 
compliments,  fetch  water  for  sprinkling  her  flowers, 
wax  enthusiastic  over  the  ruffles  she  embroiders  for 
me  and  over  the  superiority  of  her  cream-cheeses. 
We  will  breakfast  together,  dine  together,  philoso- 
phise together,  laugh  together.  That's  the  best 
pastime  conceivable.  You  are  fond  of  truffles.  My 
pantry  shall  always  smell  of  them.  You  have  a 
fondness  for  volnay — a  fondness  I  do  not  share- 
but  I  shall  always  have  some  in  my  wine-cellar.  If 
you  feel  like  going  hunting,  I  will  buy  you  a  double- 
barrelled  gun  and  a  brace  of  hounds.  And  inside  of 
three  months,  I  am  convinced,  Arabella  will  be  sick 
of  her  nobleman  and  head  over  heels  in  love  with 
you.  Does  the  arrangement  suit  you?  Yes  or  no. 
You  know  I  am  not  fond  of  fine  phrases." 

"Well,  yes,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  my  uncle. 

"Very  well,  I  expected  nothing  less  from  your 
friendship.  And  now  are  you  going  to  fight  a  duel?" 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING   257 

"Who  the  devil  told  you  that?"  cried  my  uncle. 
"I  know  that  urines  hide  nothing  from  you.  Have 
you  examined  my  urine,  without  my  knowledge?" 

"Enough  of  your  poor  jokes.  You  are  to  fight 
M.  de  Pont-Casse.  You  are  to  meet  him  three  days 
from  now  at  Croix-des-Michelins,  and  in  case  you 
rid  me  of  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  the  other  musketeer 
will  take  his  place.  You  see  I  am  well  informed." 

"What,  Benjamin!"  cried  Machecourt,  his  face  as 
pale  as  his  plate. 

"What,  you  wicked  creature,"  my  grandmother 
also  put  in,  "you  are  to  fight  a  duel?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Machecourt,  and  you,  my  dear 
sister,  and  you  too,  Monsieur  Minxit.  Yes,  I  am 
going  to  fight  a  duel  with  M.  de  Pont-Casse.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  So  save  yourself  remonstrances. 
They  would  only  bore  me  without  making  me  change 
my  mind." 

"I  have  not  come,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  "to  try 
to  prevent  the  duel.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  come 
to  show  you  a  way  to  victory,  and,  what  is  more, 
to  make  your  name  famous  throughout  the  coun- 
try. The  sergeant  knows  a  superb  thrust.  In  one 
hour  he  could  disarm  the  entire  guild  of  fencing- 
masters.  As  soon  as  he  has  drunk  a  glass  of 
white  wine,  he  shall  give  you  your  first  lesson.  I 
will  leave  him  with  you  until  Friday,  and  will  stay 
here  myself  to  watch  you  and  keep  you  from  wasting 
your  time  in  the  taverns." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  with  your  thrust,"  asked  my 


258  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

uncle.  "Besides,  if  it  is  infallible,  what  glory  would 
there  be  in  my  triumphing  over  the  vicomte?  In 
rendering  Achilles  invulnerable,  Homer  deprived 
him  of  all  the  merit  of  his  valour.  I  have  thought 
the  matter  over.  I  don't  mean  to  use  the  sword  at 
all." 

"What!  You  don't  mean  to  fight  with  a  pistol, 
you  fool  you!  If  M.  Arthus  were  your  opponent, 
very  well.  He  is  as  big  as  a  wardrobe." 

"I  don't  mean  to  fight  either  with  a  pistol  or  a 
sword.  I  wish  to  serve  these  bullies  with  a  duel  of 
my  own  kind.  You'll  see,  but  I  want  to  surprise 
you." 

"Very  well,  but  learn  my  thrust  all  the  same.  It 
is  a  weapon  that  won't  be  a  nuisance  to  you,  and 
one  never  knows  what  one  may  need." 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  the  second  story,  over 
Machecourt's.  After  breakfast,  he  shut  himself  up 
in  it  with  the  sergeant  and  M.  Minxit  to  begin  his 
fencing-lessons.  But  the  lesson  was  not  of  long 
duration.  At  Benjamin's  first  attack  Machecourt's 
worm-eaten  floor  gave  way  under  his  feet,  and  he 
went  through  up  to  his  arm-pits. 

The  sergeant,  amazed  at  the  sudden  disappear- 
ance of  his  pupil,  remained  standing  with  his  left 
arm  gently  curved  on  a  level  with  his  ear  and  his 
right  arm  extended  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  about  to 
make  a  thrust.  As  for  M.  Minxit,  he  was  seized 
with  such  a  desire  to  laugh  that  he  came  near  suffo- 
cating. 


UNCLE'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DUELLING  259 

"Where  is  Rathery?"  he  cried.  "What  has  be- 
come of  Rathery?  Sergeant,  what  have  you  done 
with  Rathery?" 

"I  see  M.  Rathery's  head,"  answered  the  ser- 
geant, "but  the  devil  take  me  if  I  know  where  his 
legs  are." 

Gaspard  happened  at  that  moment  to  be  alone  in 
his  father's  room.  At  first  he  was  somewhat  aston- 
ished at  the  abrupt  arrival  of  his  uncle's  legs.  Then 
he  burst  out  into  wild  shouts  of  laughter,  which 
mingled  with  M.  Minxit's. 

"Hello,  there,  Gaspard,"  cried  Benjamin,  who 
heard  him. 

"Hello,  there,  my  dear  uncle,"  answered  Gaspard. 

"Please  place  your  father's  leather  arm-chair  un- 
der my  feet,  Gaspard." 

"I  have  no  right  to,"  replied  the  little  rogue.  "My 
mother  won't  allow  anybody  to  stand  on  it." 

"Will  you  bring  me  that  arm-chair,  you  damned 
choir-boy,  you!" 

"Take  off  your  shoes,  and  I  will  bring  it  to  you." 

"How  do  you  expect  me  to  take  off  my  shoes? 
My  feet  are  in  the  first  story,  and  my  hands  are  in  the 
second." 

"Well,  give  me  a  franc  to  pay  me  for  my  trouble." 

"I  will  give  you  a  franc  and  a  half,  my  good 
Gaspard,  but  the  arm-chair  at  once,  I  beg  of  you. 
My  arms  will  soon  separate  from  my  shoulders." 

"Credit  is  dead,"  said  Gaspard.  "Give  me  the 
franc  and  a  half  at  once.  Otherwise,  no  arm-chair." 


260  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

Fortunately  Machecourt  came  in  at  that  point. 
He  gave  Gaspard  a  kick,  and  put  an  end  to  his 
brother-in-law's  suspension.  Benjamin  went  to  fin- 
ish his  fencing-lesson  at  Page's,  and  he  proved  so 
apt  a  pupil  that  in  two  hours'  time  he  was  as  skilful 
as  his  teacher. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  THRICE  DISARMED  M.  DE  PONT-CASSE 

THE  dawn,  a  dismal  February  dawn,  had  scarcely 
thrown  its  leaden  tints  on  the  walls  of  his  room, 
when  my  uncle  was  up.  He  dressed  himself  grop- 
ing about  for  his  things,  and  softly  descended  the 
stairs,  particularly  fearful  of  waking  his  sister.  But 
just  as  he  reached  the  vestibule,  he  felt  a  woman's 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"What,  dear  sister,"  he  cried,  just  a  bit  scared, 
"awake  already?" 

"Say  rather  not  asleep  yet,  Benjamin.  I  wanted 
to  say  good-bye  to  you  before  you  go,  perhaps  the 
last  good-bye,  Benjamin.  Have  you  a  conception  of 
how  I  am  suffering  at  the  thought  that  you  are  leav- 
ing this  house  full  of  life,  youth,  and  hope,  and  may 
come  back  on  the  arms  of  your  friends,  with  a  sword 
through  your  body?  Is  your  mind  quite  made  up? 
Before  coming  to  a  decision,  did  you  think  of  the 
grief  your  death  would  cause  in  this  unfortunate 
house?  For  you,  when  your  last  drop  of  blood  has 
gone,  all  will  be  over,  but  many  months,  many  years 
will  pass  before  our  grief  is  stilled,  and  the 
drops  of  resin  will  long  have  dried  on  the  cross  over 

261 


262  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

your  grave  when  our  tears  will  still  be  flowing." 

My  uncle  wanted  to  go  away  without  answering, 
and  perhaps  he  was  weeping.  My  grandmother 
caught  him  by  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

"Then  be  off  to  your  murderous  rendezvous,  you 
brute  you,"  she  cried.  "Do  not  keep  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse  waiting.  Perhaps  honour  requires  you  to 
start  without  kissing  your  sister.  But  at  least  take 
this  relic.  Cousin  Guillaumot  lent  it  to  me.  It 
may  guard  you  from  the  dangers  you  are  going  into 
so  recklessly." 

My  uncle  thrust  the  relic  into  his  pocket  and 
slipped  away. 

He  hastened  to  awaken  M.  Minxit  at  his  hotel. 
They  picked  up  Page  and  Arthus  in  passing,  and 
all  went  to  breakfast  together  in  a  wine-shop  at  the 
extremity  of  Beuvron.  My  uncle,  if  he  was  to  fall, 
did  not  wish  to  depart  this  life  with  an  empty  stom- 
ach. He  said  that  a  soul  appearing  before  God's 
judgment  seat  after  a  good  long  draught  feels  more 
encouraged  and  pleads  its  cause  better  than  a  poor 
soul  with  nothing  but  sweetened  water  inside  of  it. 
The  sergeant  was  present  at  breakfast,  and  at  des- 
sert my  uncle  asked  him  to  carry  a  table,  a  box,  and 
two  chairs  to  Croix-des-Michelins.  He  said  he 
needed  them  for  his  duel.  He  also  asked  him  to 
build  a  big  fire  there  with  vine-poles  from  the  neigh- 
bouring vineyard.  Then  he  ordered  coffee. 

M.  de  Pont-Casse  and  his  friend  put  in  appear- 
ance punctually. 


263 

The  sergeant  did  the  honours  of  the  bivouac  to 
the  best  of  his  ability. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "be  good  enough  to  sit 
down  and  warm  yourselves.  M.  Rathery  begs  you 
to  excuse  him  if  he  keeps  you  waiting  a  short  while. 
He  is  breakfasting  with  his  seconds,  and  will  be  at 
your  disposition  in  a  few  minutes." 

Benjamin  arrived  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  hold- 
ing Arthus  and  M.  Minxit  by  the  arm  and  singing 
lustily : 

"By  God,  a  sorry  soldier's  he 
Who  never  had  a  jolly  spree." 

My  uncle  saluted  his  two  adversaries  graciously. 

"Monsieur,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  haughtily, 
"we  have  been  waiting  for  you  twenty  minutes." 

"The  sergeant  must  have  explained  the  cause  of 
our  delay.  I  'hope  you  find  it  a  legitimate  one." 

"What  excuses  you  is  that  you  are  not  a  noble- 
man, and  this  is  probably  the  first  time  you  have 
any  dealings  with  a  nobleman." 

"What  do  you  expect?  We  plebeians  are  accus- 
tomed to  take  coffee  after  each  meal,  and  because 
you  call  yourself  Vicomte  de  Pont-Casse,  that  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  depart  from  our  custom.  You 
see,  coffee  is  a  wholesome  tonic.  It  stimulates  the 
brain  agreeably  and  promotes  thinking.  If  you  have 
not  taken  coffee  this  morning,  the  weapons  are  not 
equal,  and  I  am  not  sure  whether  my  conscience  will 
let  me  measure  myself  against  you." 


264  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Make  your  jokes,  Monsieur;  laugh  while  you 
can.  But  I  tell  you,  he  laughs  best  who  laughs  last." 

"Monsieur,"  rejoined  Benjamin,  "I  am  not  jok- 
ing when  I  say  coffee  is  a  tonic.  That  is  the  opinion 
of  several  celebrated  doctors,  and  I  myself  give  it 
as  a  stimulant  in  certain  diseases." 

"Monsieur!" 

"And  your  sorrel  horse?  I  am  surprised  not  to 
see  him  here.  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  him?" 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  second  musketeer,  "enough 
of  your  jokes.  You  have  not  forgotten  why  you 
have  come  here,  have  you?" 

"Ah,  there  you  are,  number  two.  Delighted  to 
renew  our  acquaintance.  Of  course,  I  have  not  for- 
gotten what  I  came  here  for,  and  the  proof,"  he 
added,  pointing  to  the  table  on  which  the  box  was 
placed,  "is  that  I  have  made  preparations  to  re- 
ceive you." 

"What's  this  juggler's  apparatus  for  in  a  duel?" 

"I  don't  mean  to  fight  with  the  sword." 

"Monsieur,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  "I  am  the 
insulted  party.  I  have  the  choice  of  weapons.  I 
choose  the  sword." 

"It  is  I,  Monsieur,  who  was  insulted  first;  I  will 
not  yield  my  privilege,  and  I  choose  chess." 

He  opened  the  box  the  sergeant  had  brought,  took 
out  a  chess-board,  and  invited  the  nobleman  to  take 
his  place  at  the  table. 

M.  de  Pont-Casse  turned  pale  with  anger. 

"Are  you  trying  to  make  a  fool  of  me?"  he  cried. 


MY  UNCLE  DISARMS  THE  VICOMTE    265 

"Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle.  "Every  'duel  is  a 
game  in  which  two  men  stake  their  lives.  Why 
shouldn't  the  game  be  played  with  chess  as  well  as 
with  the  sword?  However,  if  you  doubt  your 
strength  at  chess,  I  am  ready  to  play  you  a  game 
of  ecarte  or  triomphe.  In  five  points,  if  you  like, 
without  a  return  game  or  a  rubber.  In  that  way  it 
will  be  over  soon." 

"I  have  come  here,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse, 
scarcely  able  to  contain  himself,  "not  to  stake  my 
life  like  a  bottle  of  beer,  but  to  defend  it  with  my 
sword." 

"I  understand,"  said  my  uncle.  "You  are  a  bet- 
ter swordsman  than  I  am,  and  you  hope  to  have  an 
advantage  over  me,  who  never  take  mine  in  hand 
except  to  put  it  at  my  side.  Is  that  a  nobleman's 
fairness?  If  a  mower  should  propose  to  fight  you 
with  the  scythe,  or  a  rhi-asher  with  a  flail,  would 
you  accept,  I  ask  you?" 

"You  will  fight  with  the  sword,"  cried  M.  de 

Pont-Casse,  beside  himself.  "Otherwise "  he 

added,  lifting  his  riding-whip. 

"Otherwise  what?"  said  my  uncle. 

"Otherwise  I  will  cut  you  across  the  face  with  my 
riding-whip." 

"You  know  how  I  answer  your  threats,"  re- 
torted Benjamin.  "No,  Monsieur,  this  duel  shall 
not  be  carried  through  as  you  hope.  If  you  persist 
in  your  unfair  obstinacy,  I  shall  believe  and  declare 
that  you  have  speculated  on  your  ruffian's  skill,  that 


266  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

you  have  set  a  trap  for  me,  that  you  have  come  here, 
not  to  risk  your  life  against  mine,  but  to  cripple  me, 
do  you  understand,  M.  de  JPont-Casse?  And  I  shall 
hold  you  for  a  coward,  yes,  fqr  a  coward,  my  noble- 
man, for  a  coward,  yes,  for  a  coward." 

My  uncle's  words  vibrated  between  his  lips  like  a 
rattling  window-pane. 

The  nobleman  could  endure  it  no  longer.  He 
drew  his  sword  and  rushed  upon  Benjamin,  and 
it  would  have  been  all  up  with  Benjamin  if  the 
poodle  had  not  changed  the  direction  of  his  sword 
by  throwing  himself  upon-M.  de  Pont-Casse.  The 
sergeant  having  called  off  his  dog,  my  uncle  cried: 

"Gentleman,  I  call  you  to  witness  that  if  I  fight, 
it  is  to  save  this  man  from  committing  a  mur- 
der." 

Brandishing  his  sword,  he  sustained  his  adver- 
sary's impetuous  attack  without  retiring  a  step.  The 
sergeant,  seeing  no  sign  of  his  thrust,  stamped  on 
the  grass  like  a  war-horse  tied  to  a  tree  and  twisted 
his  wrist  till  he  nearly  threw  it  out  of  joint  to  indi- 
cate to  Benjamin  the  motion  he  ought  to  make  in 
order  to  disarm  his  man.  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  exas- 
perated at  the  unexpected  resistance,  lost  his  sang- 
froid and  along  with  it  his  murderous  skill.  He  no 
longer  tried  to  parry,  only  to  pierce  his  adversary 
with  his  sword. 

"Monsieur  de  Pont-Casse,"  said  my  uncle,  "you 
would  have  done  better  to  play  chess.  You  never 
parry.  I  could  kill  you  at  any  moment" 


MY  UNCLE  DISARMS  THE  VICOMTE    267 

"Kill  me,  Monsieur,"  said  the  musketeer.  "That 
is  what  you  are  here  for." 

"I  prefer  to  disarm  you,"  said  my  uncle,  and 
swiftly  passing  his  sword  under  his  adversary's,  he 
sent  it  into  the  middle  of  the  hedge. 

"Well  done!  Bravo!"  cried  the  sergeant.  "I 
could  not  have  sent  it  so  far  myself.  If  you  could 
only  take  lessons  of  me  for  six  months,  you  would 
be  the  best  swordsman  in  France." 

M.  de  Pont-Casse  desired  to  begin  the  combat 
again.  The  seconds  were  opposed  to  this,  but  my 
uncle  said: 

"No,  gentlemen,  the  first  time  does  not  count,  and 
there  is  no  game  without  a  return  game.  The  repara- 
tion to  which  Monsieur  is  entitled  must  be  complete." 

The  two  adversaries  put  themselves  on  guard 
again.  At  the  first  thrust  M.  de  Pont-Casse's  sword 
went  flying  into  the  road.  As  he  ran  to  pick  it  up, 
Benjamin  said  to  him  with  a  sardonic  smile: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Count,  for  the  trouble  I  gave 
you.  But  it  is  your  own  fault.  Had  you  been  will- 
ing to  play  chess,  you  would  not  have  been  both- 
ered so  often." 

A  third  time  the  musketeer  returned  to  the 
charge. 

"Enough !"  cried  the  seconds.  "You  are  abusing 
M.  Rathery's  generosity." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle.  "Monsieur  undoubt- 
edly wishes  to  learn  the  thrust.  Permit  me  to  give 
him  another  lesson." 


268  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

The  lesson  was  not  long  in  coming,  and  M.  de 
Pont-Casse's  sword  escaped  his  hand  the  third  time. 

"At  least,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  would  have  done 
well  to  bring  a  servant  with  you  to  go  pick  up  your 
sword." 

"You  are  the  devil  in  person,"  said  the  vicomte. 
"I  would  rather  have  been  killed  by  you  than  treated 
so  ignominiously." 

"And  you,  my  nobleman,"  said  Benjamin,  turn- 
ing to  the  other  musketeer,  "you  see  my  barber  is 
not  here.  Shall  I  keep  my  promise  to  you?" 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  musketeer.  "To  you 
belong  the  honours  of  the  day.  There  is  no  cow- 
ardice in  giving  up  to  you,  since  you  do  not  use  your 
sword  against  the  defeated  man.  Although  you  are 
not  a  nobleman,  I  consider  you  the  best  swordsman 
and  the  most  honourable  man  I  know.  Your  ad- 
versary wanted  to  kill  you,  but  you,  though  you  had 
his  life  in  your  hands,  respected  it.  If  I  were  king, 
you  should  be  a  duke,  at  least,  and  member  of  the 
house  of  peers.  And  if  you  attach  any  value  to  my 
friendship,  I  offer  it  to  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
ask  yours  in  exchange." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  my  uncle,  who  shook  it 
cordially.  M.  de  Pont-Casse  stood  before  the  fire, 
gloomy  and  sullen,  as  though  a  storm  cloud  were 
gathering  on  his  brow.  He  took  his  friend's  arm, 
gave  my  uncle  a  chilly  salute,  and  left. 

My  uncle  wanted  to  hurry  back  to  his  sister.  But 
the  report  of  his  victory  had  spread  rapidly  through 


MY  UNCLE  DISARMS  THE  VICOMTE    269 

the  faubourg.  At  every  step  he  was  stopped  by 
someone  calling  himself  a  friend  and  congratulated 
on  his  wonderful  feat,  and  his  arm  was  almost 
shaken  from  his  shoulder.  The  urchins  that  each 
new  event  gathers  in  the  streets  swarmed  about  him 
and  deafened  him  with  their  hurrahs.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments he  became  the  centre  of  a  frightfully  noisy 
crowd.  They  trod  on  his  heels,  spattered  his  silk 
stockings,  and  knocked  his  three-cornered  hat  into 
the  mud.  He  was  still  able  to  exchange  a  few  words 
with  M.  Minxit,  but  then  Cicero,  the  drummer, 
whose  acquaintance  we  have  already  made,  to  put 
a  finishing  touch  to  his  triumph,  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  crowd  and  began  to  beat  the  charge 
hard  enough  to  shatter  the  bridge  of  Beuvron.  Ben- 
jamin even  had  to  give  him  thirty  sous  for  his  din. 
The  only  thing  lacking  to  complete  his  misfortune 
was  a  speech  in  his  honour.  That  is  how  my  uncle 
was  rewarded  for  having  risked  his  life  in  a  duel. 

"If,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  had  given  a  few  louis 
to  a  wretch  dying  of  hunger  in  Croix-des-Michelins, 
all  these  fools  applauding  me  here  would  let  me  go 
my  way  without  a  sound.  My  God,  what  is  glory, 
and  to  whom  does  it  go?  The  fuss  they  make  about 
a  name,  is  it  so  rare,  so  precious  a  blessing  that 
peace,  happiness,  affection,  the  finest  years  of  one's 
life,  and  sometimes  the  peace  of  the  world,  should 
be  sacrificed  for  it?  What  sort  of  a  person  has  not 
been  pointed  out  to  the  public?  The  child  that  is 
carried  to  church  to  the  ringing  bells,  the  ox  that  is 


27o  MY  UNCLE.  BENJAMIN 

led  through  the  city  decorated  with  flowers  and  rib- 
bons, the  six-footed  calf,  the  stuffed  boa-constrictor, 
the  monster  pumpkin,  the  tight-rope  dancer,  the 
aeronaut  who  makes  an  ascent,  the  juggler  who 
swallows  balls,  the  prince  as  he  drives  by,  the  bishop 
who  blesses,  the  general  who  returns  from  a  vic- 
torious campaign  in  a  remote  country — have  not  all 
of  them  had  their  moment  of  glory?  You  think 
you  are  celebrated  because  you  have  sown  your  ideas 
in  the  arid  furrows  of  a  book,  or  made  men  out  of 
marble  and  passions  out  of  ivory.  But  your  fame 
would  be  far  greater  if  you  had  a  nose  six  inches 
long.  As  for  the  glory  that  survives  us,  I  admit 
not  everybody  can  attain  it,  but  the  difficulty  is  to 
enjoy  it.  Find  a  banker  who  discounts  immortality, 
and  from  to-morrow  on  I  will  toil  to  make  myself 
immortal." 

My  uncle  wanted  M.  Minxit  to  stay  to  the  fam- 
ily dinner  at  his  sister's,  but  the  good  man,  though 
his  dear  Benjamin  stood  before  him  safe,  sound, 
and  victorious,  was  sad  and  preoccupied.  What  my 
uncle  had  said  to  M.  de  Pont-Casse  in  the  morning 
kept  recurring  to  his  mind.  He  said  a  voice  was 
ringing  in  his  ears  summoning  him  to  Corvol.  He 
felt  nervous,  like  a  man  who  is  not  accustomed  to 
coffee  and  has  drunk  a  strong  cup.  He  was  fre- 
quently obliged  to  leave  the  table  and  take  a  turn 
about  the  room.  His  extreme  excitement  fright- 
ened Benjamin,  and  he  himself  urged  him  to  go  back 
home. 


CHAPTER    XX 

ABDUCTION  AND  DEATH  OF  MADEMOISELLE  MINXIT 

MY  uncle  escorted  M.  Minxit  as  far  as  Croix- 
des-Michelins,  and  then  returned  to  go  to  bed.  He 
was  in  the  complete  oblivion  of  the  first  hours  of 
sleep  when  he  was  awakened  with  a  shock  by  a  vio- 
lent knocking  at  the  outside  door.  He  opened  his 
window.  Though  the  street  was  as  dark  as  a  deep 
ditch,  he  recognised  M.  Minxit,  and  thought  he  per- 
ceived indications  of  distress  in  his  attitude.  He 
ran  to  open  the  door.  Scarcely  had  he  drawn  the 
bolt,  when  the  good  man  threw  himself  into  his  arms 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Monsieur  Minxit?  Tell  me. 
Tears  are  no  good.  Has  anything  happened  to 
you?" 

"Gone!  Gone!"  cried  M.  Minxit,  choking  with 
sobs.  "Gone  with  him,  Benjamin!" 

"What,  Arabella  has  gone  with  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse?"  said  my  uncle,  divining  at  once  what  he 
meant. 

"You  were  quite  right  in  warning  me  against  him. 
Why  didn't  you  kill  him?" 

271 


272  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"There  is  still  time  for  that,"  said  Benjamin. 
"But  first  we  must  start  in  pursuit." 

"Come  with  me,  Benjamin.  All  my  strength 
and  courage  is  in  you." 

"Go  with  you !  Of  course  I  will,  and  directly. 
By  the  way,  did  it  occur  to  you  to  take  money?" 

"I  haven't  a  bit  of  cash,  my  friend.  The  poor 
girl  carried  off  every  bit  there  was  in  my  secretary." 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  my  uncle.  "You  can 
at  least  be  sure  she  will  want  for  nothing  until  we 
catch  her." 

"As  soon  as  it  is  light,  I  will  go  to  my  banker  to 
get  some  funds." 

"Yes,"  said  my  uncle,  "do  you  think  they  will 
amuse  themselves  making  love  on  the  greensward 
by  the  roadside?  When  it  is  light,  they  will  be  far 
far  away.  You  must  go  at  once  to  awaken  your 
banker,  and  knock  at  his  door  until  he  has  counted 
out  a  thousand  francs.  You  will  have  to  pay  twenty 
per  cent,  instead  of  fifteen,  that  is  all." 

"But  what'  road  have  they  taken?  We  must 
wait  till  daylight  to  make  inquiries." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle.  "They  have  taken 
the  road  to  Paris.  Paris  is  the  only  place  M.  de 
Pont-Casse  can  go  to.  I  have  it  on  good  authority 
that  his  leave  of  absence  expires  in  a  few  days.  I 
am  going  at  once  to  get  a  carriage  and  two  good 
horses.  Join  me  at  the  Golden  Lion." 

As  my  uncle  started  to  go  out,  M.  Minxit  said 
to  him: 


ABDUCTION  OF  MLLE.  MINXIT    273 

"You  have  nothing  but  your  shirt  on." 

"Right,"  said  Benjamin,  "I  forgot  that.  It  was 
so  dark  I  didn't  notice  it.  But  I  shall  be  dressed  in 
five  minutes,  and  in  twenty  minutes  I  shall  be  at 
the  Golden  Lion.  I  will  say  good-bye  to  my  dear 
sister  when  I  return  from  the  trip." 

An  hour  later  my  uncle  and  M.  Minxit  were  driv- 
ing along  the  wretched  road  that  then  led  from 
Clamecy  to  Auxerre  in  a  rickety  vehicle  drawn  by 
two  jades.  By  daylight  winter  is  tolerable,  but  at 
night  it  is  horrible.  With  the  utmost  speed  pos- 
sible, it  was  not  until  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning 
that  they  arrived  at  Courson.  Under  the  porch  of 
La  Levrette,  the  only  tavern  in  the  neighbourhood, 
a  coffin  was  exposed,  and  a  whole  swarm  of  ugly, 
ragged  old  women  were  croaking  around  it. 

"I  have  it  from  Gobi,  the  sexton,"  said  one,  "that 
the  young  lady  promised  three  thousand  francs  to 
be  distributed  among  the  poor  of  the  parish." 

"We  shall  get  some  of  that,  Mother  Simonne." 

"If  the  young  lady  dies,  as  they  say  she  will,  the 
proprietor  of  La  Levrette  will  take  everything," 
answered  a  third.  "We  ought  to  go  see  the  bailiff 
and  get  him  to  look  after  our  inheritance." 

My  uncle  took  one  of  the  old  women  aside  and 
asked  her  to  explain  what  it  was  all  about.  Proud 
at  having  been  singled  out  by  a  stranger  with  a 
carriage  and  pair,  she  gave  her  companions  a  look 
of  triumph,  and  said: 

"You  have  done  well  to  ask  me,  sir.     I  know 


274  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

everything  that  happened  better  than  they  do.  This 
morning  the  man  in  the  coffin  was  in  the  green  car- 
riage you  see  yonder  in  the  coach-house.  He  was 
a  grand  lord,  worth  millions,  who  was  going  with 
a  young  lady  to  Paris,  to  court  perhaps,  and  he 
stopped  here,  and  he  will  remain  in  that  poor 
cemetery  to  rot  along  with  the  peasants  he  so  de- 
spised. He  was  young  and  handsome,  and  I,  old 
Manette,  all  worn  out  and  good  for  nothing,  will 
sprinkle  holy  water  on  his  grave,  and  in  ten  years, 
if  I  live  so  long,  his  ashes  will  have  to  make  room 
for  my  old  bones.  No  matter  how  rich  the  grand 
gentlemen,  sooner  or  later  they  have  to  go  where 
we  go.  They  may  dress  themselves  in  velvets  and 
taffetas,  but  their  last  coat  is  always  made  of  the 
planks  of  their  coffin.  They  tend  and  perfume  their 
skin,  but  the  earthworms  are  made  for  them  as 
well  as  for  us.  To  think  that  I,  the  old  washer- 
woman, shall  be  able  to  go,  when  I  like,  to  squat  on 
a  nobleman's  grave.  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  the  thought 
does  us  good.  It  consoles  us  for  being  poor,  and 
avenges  us  for  not  being  nobles.  However,  it  is 
really  his  fault  that  he  is  dead.  He  wanted  to  take 
a  traveller's  room  because  it  was  the  finest  in  the 
tavern,  and  the  two  quarrelled  over  it,  so  they  went 
to  fight  in  the  garden  of  La  Levrette,  and  the 
traveller  put  a  ball  through  his  head.  The  young 
lady,  it  seems,  was  with  child,  poor  thing.  When 
she  heard  her  husband  was  dead,  she  was  taken  in 
labour,  and  is  scarcely  better  off  than  her  noble 


ABDUCTION  OF  MLLE.  MINXIT    275 

husband.  Doctor  Debrit  left  her  room  just  now. 
I  do  his  washing,  and  I  asked  how  the  young  lady 
was,  and  he  said,  'Ah,  Mother  Manette,  I  would 
rather  be  in  your  old  wrinkled  skin  than  in  hers.'  ' 

"And  this  lord,"  said  my  uncle,  "wasn't  he  wear- 
ing a  red  coat,  a  light  wig,  and  three  plumes  in  his 
hat?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Do  you  know  him?" 

"No,"  said  my  uncle,  "but  I  may  have  seen  him 
somewhere." 

"And  the  young  lady,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "is  she 
not  tall  and  freckled?" 

"She  is  about  five  feet  three  inches,"  answered 
the  old  woman,  "and  has  a  skin  like  the  shell  of  a 
turkey's  egg." 

M.  Minxit  fainted. 

Benjamin  carried  M.  Minxit  to  his  bed,  and 
bled  him.  Then  he  asked  to  be  taken  to  Arabella; 
for  the  beautiful  lady  dying  in  the  pains  of  child- 
birth was  M.  Minxit's  daughter.  She  was  occupy- 
ing the  room  that  her  lover  had  obtained  at  the 
cost  of  his  life — a  gloomy  room,  indeed,  the  pos- 
session of  which  was  scarcely  worth  quarrelling 
about. 

Arabella  lay  in  a  bed  draped  in  green  serge.  My 
uncle  drew  the  curtains  aside  and  looked  at  her  for 
some  time  in  silence.  A  moist  marble  pallor  had 
spread  over  her  face.  Her  half-open  eyes  were 
faded  and  expressionless.  Her  breath  escaped  in 
sobs.  Benjamin  lifted  her  arm  lying  motionless  at 


276  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

her  side.  Having  felt  her  pulse,  he  shook  his  head 
sadly,  and  ordered  the  nurse  to  go  for  Dr.  Debrit. 
Hearing  his  voice,  Arabella  trembled  like  a  corpse 
under  the  influence  of  a  galvanic  current. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  said,  throwing  a  wild  look 
about  her.  "Was  it  a  nightmare?  Do  I  hear  you, 
Monsieur  Rathery,  and  am  I  still  at  Corvol  in  my 
father's  house?" 

"You  are  not  in  your  father's  house,"  said  my 
uncle,  "but  your  father  is  here.  He  is  ready  to 
forgive  you.  All  he  asks  of  you  is  to  live  so  that 
he  may  live  too." 

Arabella's  eyes  chanced  to  fall  upon  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse's  uniform,  which  was  hanging  on  the  wall 
still  soaked  in  blood.  She  tried  to  sit  up  in  bed, 
but  her  limbs  twisted  in  a  horrible  convulsion,  and 
she  fell  back  heavily,  like  a  corpse  that  has  been 
raised  in  its  coffin.  Benjamin  placed  his  hand  upon 
her  heart.  It  was  no  longer  beating.  He  held  a 
mirror  to  her  lips;  the  glass  remained  clear.  Mis- 
ery and  happiness  were  all  over  for  poor  Arabella. 
Benjamin  stood  erect  at  her  bedside,  holding  her 
hand  in  his,  plunged  in  bitter  reflections. 

Just  then  a  heavy,  uncertain  step  was  heard  on 
the  stairs.  Benjamin  hastened  to  turn  the  key  in 
the  lock.  It  was  M.  Minxit,  who  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  cried: 

"It  is  I,  Benjamin.  Open  the  door.  I  want  to 
see  my  daughter.  I  must  see  her.  She  cannot  die 
until  I  have  seen  her." 


ABDUCTION  OF  MLLE.  MINXIT    277 

There  is  cruelty  in  making  believe  that  a  dead 
person  is  still  alive  and  active.  My  uncle,  however, 
did  not  shrink  from  this  necessity. 

"Go  away,  Monsieur  Minxit,  I  beg  of  you.  Ara- 
bella is  better.  She  is  resting.  Your  coming  in 
suddenly  might  bring  on  a  crisis  that  would  kill 
her." 

"I  tell  you,  wretch,  I  want  to  see  my  daughter," 
cried  M.  Minxit,  and  he  threw  himself  with  such 
violence  against  the  door  that  the  staple  of  the  lock 
fell  to  the  floor. 

"Well,"  said  Benjamin,  hoping  still  to  deceive 
him,  "you  see  your  daughter  is  sleeping  quietly. 
Are  you  satisfied  now,  and  will  you  go  away?" 

The  unhappy  old  man  threw  a'  glance  at  his 
daughter. 

"You  are  lying,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  made 
Benjamin  tremble.  "She  is  not  asleep,  she  is  dead!" 

He  threw  himself  upon  her  body  and  pressed  her 
convulsively  to  his  breast. 

"Arabella!"  he  cried.  "Arabella!  Arabella! 
Oh,  was  it  this  way  that  I  was  to  find  you  again? 
My  daughter,  my  only  child!  God  lets  the  mur- 
derer's hair  grow,  and  from  a  father  he  takes  his 
only  child.  How  can  they  tell  us  that  God  is  good 
and  just?"  Then  his  grief  changed  into  anger 
against  my  uncle.  "It  is  you,  you  miserable  Rath- 
ery,  who  made  me  refuse  her  to  M.  de  Pont-Casse. 
But  for  you  she  would  be  married  and  full  of  life." 

"Are  you   joking?"   said   my  uncle.      "Is   it  my 


278  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

fault  that  she  fell  in  love  with  a  musketeer?" 
All  passions  are  nothing  but  blood  rushing  to 
the  brain.  M.  Minxit's  reason  had  doubtless  given 
way  under  his  terrible  grief,  and  in  the  paroxysm 
of  his  delirium  the  vein  from  which  my  uncle  had 
just  bled  him  reopened.  Benjamin  allowed  the 
blood  to  flow,  and  soon  a  salutary  swoon  suc- 
ceeded this  superabundance  of  life  and  saved  the 
poor  old  man.  Benjamin  gave  orders  to  the  pro- 
prietor of  La  Levrette  for  Arabella  and  her  lover 
to  receive  an  honourable  burial,  and  also  gave  him 
the  money  with  which  to  carry  out  his  orders.  Then 
he  came  back  to  station  himself  at  M.  Minxit's  bed- 
side, and  watched  over  him  like  a  mother  over  her 
sick  child.  M.  Minxit  hung  three  days  between  life 
and  the  grave,  but,  thanks  to  my  uncle's  skilful,  af- 
fectionate care,  the  fever  devouring  him  gradually 
disappeared,  and  soon  he  was  in  a  condition  to  be 
transferred  to  Corvol. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A  FINAL  FESTIVAL 

MONSIEUR  MINXIT  had  one  of  those  antedilu- 
vian constitutions  which  seem  made  of  more  solid 
material  than  our  own.  It  was  one  of  those  deep- 
rooted  plants  that  keep  a  vigourous  vegetation 
when  winter  has  withered  the  others.  Wrinkles 
had  been  unable  to  ruffle  his  granite  brow.  Years 
had  accumulated  upon  his  head  without  leaving  any 
trace  of  decline.  He  had  remained  young  till  past 
his  sixtieth  year,  and  his  winter,  like  that  of  the 
tropics,  was  still  full  of  sap  and  flowers.  But  time 
and  misfortune  forget  nobody. 

His  daughter's  death,  coming  upon  her  flight  and 
the  revelation  of  her  pregnancy  dealt  the  strong  or- 
ganism a  mortal  blow.  A  slow  fever  was  silently 
undermining  M.  Minxit.  He  had  renounced  those 
noisy  pleasures  which  had  made  his  life  one  long 
festivity.  He  put  aside  medicine  as  a  useless  en- 
cumbrance. The  companions  of  his  long  period  of 
youth  respected  his  sorrow,  and  ceased  to  see  him 
without  ceasing  to  love  him.  His  house  was  silent 
and  sealed  as  a  tomb.  Its  occupants  could  scarcely 
snatch  a  few  stealthy  glimpses  of  the  village 

279 


28o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

through  the  blinds  that  were  only  occasionally  half- 
opened.  The  y?rd  no  longer  rang  with  the  noise 
of  people  going  and  coming.  The  early  spring 
weeds  choked  the  drive,  and  high  plants  growing 
along  the  walls  formed  a  circle  of  verdure. 

The  poor  soul  in  mourning  needed  nothing  now 
but  obscurity  and  silence.  He  did  what  the  wild 
beast  does  that  retires  into  the  gloomiest  depths  of 
its  forest  when  it  wishes  to  die.  My  uncle's  gaiety 
proved  powerless  to  overcome  this  incurable  mel- 
ancholy. M.  Minxit  answered  only  with  a  sad, 
gloomy  smile,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  understood 
and  thanked  my  uncle  for  his  good  intentions. 

My  uncle  had  counted  on  the  spring  to  bring  him 
back  to  life.  But  the  spring,  which  dresses  the  dry 
earth  anew  in  flowers  and  verdure,  cannot  revive  a 
grief-stricken  soul,  and  while  everything  else  was 
being  born  again,  the  poor  man  was  slowly  dying. 

It  was  an  evening  in  the  month  of  May.  M. 
Minxit  was  walking  in  his  field,  resting  on  Benja- 
min's arm.  The  sky  was  clear,  the  earth  was  green 
and  fragrant,  the  nightingales  were  singing  in  the 
poplars,  the  dragonflies  were  hovering  among  the 
reeds  of  the  brook,  their  wings  making  a  melodious 
buzzing,  and  the  water,  all  covered  with  hawthorn 
blossoms,  was  murmuring  under  the  roots  of  the 
willows. 

"A  fine  evening,"  said  Benjamin,  trying  to  rouse 
M.  Minxit  from  the  gloomy  revery  that  shrouded 
his  mind. 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  281 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "a  fine  evening  for  a  poor 
peasant  who  walks  along  between  the  flowering 
hedges  with  his  pick  on  his  shoulder,  on  his  way  to 
his  smoking  hut,  where  his  children  are  waiting  for 
him.  But  there  are  no  more  fine  evenings  for  the 
father  mourning  his  daughter." 

"At  what  fireside  is  there  not  some  vacant 
chair?"  said  my  uncle.  "Who  has  not  some  grassy 
hillock  in  the  cemetery  where  he  comes  every  year  on 
All  Saints'  day  to  shed  pious  tears?  And  in  the 
streets  of  the  city  what  throng,  however  pink  and 
gilded,  is  not  spotted  with  black?  When  sons  grow 
old,  they  are  condemned  to  put  their  old  parents  in 
the  grave.  When  they  die  in  their  prime,  they  leave 
a  desolate  mother  on  her  knees  beside  their  coffin. 
Believe  me,  man's  eyes  were  made  much  less  for  see- 
ing than  for  weeping,  and  every  soul  has  its  wound, 
just  as  every  plant  has  its  canker.  But  God  has  also 
sowed  forgetfulness  in  the  path  of  life.  It  follows 
death  with  slow  steps,  effacing  the  epitaphs  death 
has  traced  and  repairing  the  ruins  death  has  made. 
Are  you  willing,  my  dear  Monsieur  Minxit,  to  fol- 
low a  piece  of  good  advice?  Then  go  eat  carp  on 
the  shores  of  Lake  Geneva,  macaroni  at  Naples, 
drink  sherry  wine  at  Cadiz,  and  taste  ices  at  Con- 
stantinople. In  a  year  you  will  come  back  as  fat  and 
round  as  you  used  to  be." 

M.  Minxit  allowed  my  uncle  to  harangue  him  as 
long  as  he  liked,  and  when  he  finished  said  to  him: 

"How  many  days  have  I  still  to  live,  Benjamin?" 


282  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"Why?s  said  my  uncle,  amazed  at  the  question 
and  thinking  he  had  misunderstood  him.  "What  do 
you  mean,  Monsieur  Minxit?" 

"I  ask  you,"  repeated  M.  Minxit,  "how  many 
days  have  I  still  to  live?" 

"The  devil!"  said  my  uncle.  "A  very  embarrass- 
ing question.  On  the  one  hand,  I  should  not  like  to 
disoblige  you;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  do  not 
know  whether  prudence  permits  me  to  satisfy  your 
desire.  They  tell  the  condemned  man  of  his  execu- 
tion only  a  few  hours  before  his  journey  to  the  scaf- 
fold, and  you " 

"It  is  a  service,"  interrupted  M.  Minxit,  "that  I 
impose  upon  your  friendship,  because  you  alone  can 
render  it.  The  traveller  must  know  at  what  hour 
he  is  to  start,  so  that  he  may  pack  his  trunk." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  speak  frankly  and  sincerely, 
Monsieur  Minxit?  Will  you,  on  your  honour,  not 
be  frightened  at  the  sentence  I  shall  utter?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  said  M.  Minxit.' 

"Well,  then,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  will  speak  as  if 
it  were  myself." 

He  examined  the  old  man's  dried-up  face,  his  dim, 
dull  eyes  which  reflected  only  a  few  gleams  of  light, 
his  pulse,  as  if  listening  to  its  beating  with  his 
fingers.  For  some  time  he  was  silent,  then  he  said: 

"To-day  is  Thursday.  Well,  on  Monday  there 
will  be  one  house  more  in  mourning  in  Corvol." 

"A  very  good  diagnosis,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "I 
thought  so  myself.  If  you  ever  find  an  opportunity 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  283 

to  introduce  yourself,  I  predict  you  will  become  one 
of  our  medical  celebrities.  But  does  Sunday  belong 
to  me  entirely?" 

"It  belongs  to  you  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
provided  you  do  nothing  to  hurry  the  end  of  your 
days." 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  do,"  said  M.  Minxit. 
"Now  do  me  the  favour  to  invite  our  friends  for 
Sunday  to  a  festive  dinner.  I  do  not  wish  to  go 
away  on  bad  terms  with  life,  and  it  is  with  the  glass 
in  my  hand  that  I  desire  to  take  leave.  You  must 
insist  on  their  acceptance  of  my  invitation.  If  neces- 
sary, tell  them  it  is  their  duty." 

"I  will  go  to  invite  them  myself,"  said  my  uncle, 
"and  I  guarantee  that  none  of  them  shall  fail  you." 

"Now,  let  us  take  up  something  very  different. 
I  do  not  want  to  be  buried  in  the  churchyard.  It  is 
in  a  valley,  and  is  cold  and  damp,  and  the  shadow 
of  the  church  lies  on  it  like  a  crape  veil.  I  should 
be  uncomfortable  in  there,  and  you  know  I  like  my 
ease.  I  want  you  to  bury  me  in  my  field,  at  the  edge 
of  this  brook  whose  song  I  love  so."  He  tore  up  a 
handful  of  grass,  and  said,  "See,  here  is  the  spot 
where  I  wish  you  to  dig  my  last  resting-place.  Plant 
a  bower  of  vines  here  and  honeysuckles,  so  that  the 
verdure  may  be  mingled  with  flowers,  and  come  here 
sometimes  to  dream  of  your  old  friend.  To  make 
you  come  oftener,  and  also  so  as  not  to  disturb  my 
sleep,  I  leave  you  this  estate  and  all  my  other  prop- 
erty. But  on  two  conditions.  First,  that  you  live 


284  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

in  the  house  that  I  am  about  to  leave  empty;  sec- 
ond, that  you  continue  to  attend  my  patients  as  I 
attended  them  for  thirty  years." 

"I  accept  this  double  inheritance  with  gratitude," 
said* my  uncle,  "but  I  warn  you  I  will  not  go  to  the 
fairs." 

"Granted,"  answered  M.  Minxit. 

"As  for  your  patients,"  added  Benjamin,  "I  will 
treat  them  conscientiously  and  according  to  the  sys- 
tem of  Tissot,  which  seems  to  me  founded  on  ex- 
perience and  reason.  The  first  one  of  them  to  leave 
this  world  shall  bring  you  news  of  me." 

"I  feel  the  cold  of  evening  creeping  over  me.  It 
is  time  to  say  farewell  to  this  sky,  to  these  old  trees 
which  will  never  see  me  again,  to  these  little  song- 
sters, for  we  shall  not  come  back  here  till  Monday 
morning." 

The  next  day  he  shut  himself  up  with  his  friend, 
the  notary.  The  day  after  he  grew  weaker  and 
weaker  and  kept  his  bed.  But  on  Sunday  he  rose, 
had  himself  powdered,  and  donned  his  best  coat. 
Benjamin,  according  to  his  promise,  had  gone  to 
Clamecy  to  extend  the  invitations,  and  not  one  of 
the  friends  failed  to  respond  to  this  funeral  call.  At 
four  o'clock  they  found  themselves  all  gathered  in 
the  drawing-room. 

M.  Minxit  was  not  slow  in  making  his  appear- 
ance, tottering  and  resting  on  my  uncle's  arm.  He 
shook  hands  with  all  of  them,  and  thanked  them  af- 
fectionately for  having  given  in  to  his  last  wish, 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  285 

which  was,  he  said,  the  caprice  of  a  dying  man. 

This  man  whom  they  had  seen  a  short  time  before 
so  gay,  so  happy,  and  so  full  of  life,  had  been 
broken  down  by  grief.  Old  age  had  come  upon  him 
at  one  stroke.  At  sight  of  him  all  shed  tears.  Ar- 
thus  suddenly  felt  his  appetite  going. 

A  servant  announced  that  dinner  was  ready.  M. 
Minxit  seated  himself  as  usual  at  the  head  of  the 
table. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he  to  his  guests,  "this  dinner  is 
my  last.  I  wish  my  last  looks  to  meet  nothing  but 
full  glasses  and  merry  faces.  If  you  wish  to  please 
me,  you  will  give  free  rein  to  your  usual  gaiety." 

He  poured  out  a  few  drops  of  Burgundy,  and 
held  out  his  glass  to  his  guests.  They  all  said  to- 
gether: 

"To  M.  Minxit's  health!" 

"No,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "not  to  my  health.  Of 
what  use  is  a  wish  that  cannot  be  gratified?  But 
to  your  health,  to  you  all,  to  your  prosperity,  to 
your  happiness,  and  may  God  keep  those  of  you 
who  have  children  from  losing  them !" 

"M.  Minxit,"  said  Guillerand,  "has  taken 
things  too  much  to  heart.  I  should  not  have  thought 
him  capable  of  dying  of  sorrow.  I  too  lost  a 
daughter,  a  daughter  whom  I  placed  at  school  with 
the  Sisters.  It  pained  me  for  a  time,  but  now  I  am 
none  the  worse  for  it,  and  sometimes,  I  confess,  the 
thought  occurs  to  me  that  I  no  longer  have  to  pay 
her  board." 


286  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

"A  bottle  broken  in  your  wine-cellar,"  said 
Arthus,  "or  a  scholar  taken  from  your  school  would 
have  caused  you  more  sorrow." 

"It  well  becomes  you,"  said  Millot,  "to  talk  that 
way,  you,  Arthus  who  fear  no  misfortune  except  the 
loss  of  your  appetite." 

"I  have  more  bowels  than  you,  song-maker," 
answered  Arthus. 

"Yes,  for  digestive  purposes,"  said  the  poet. 

"Well,  it  is  of  some  value  to  be  able  to  digest 
well,"  replied  Arthus.  "At  least,  when  you  go  in 
a  cart,  your  friends  are  not  obliged  to  fasten  you 
to  the  cart-stakes  for  fear  of  losing  you  on  the  way." 

"Arthus,"  said  Millot,  "no  personalities,  I  pray 
you." 

"I  know  that  you  bear  me  ill-will,"  answered 
Arthus,  "because  I  fell  on  you  on  the  way  from 
Corvol.  But  sing  me  your  Grand-Noel  and  we  shall 
be  quits." 

"And  I  maintain  my  song  is  a  fine  bit  of  poesy. 
Would  you  like  me  to  show  you  a  letter  from  Mon- 
seigneur  the  bishop  who  compliments  me  upon  it?" 

"Just  put  your  song  on  the  gridiron,  and  we  shall 
see  what  it  is  worth." 

"I  recognise  you  there,  Arthus.  Nothing  has  any 
value  for  you  that  isn't  roasted  or  boiled." 

"What's  wrong  with  that?  My  sensitiveness  re- 
sides in  my  palate,  and  I  like  to  have  it  there  as 
well  as  anywhere  else.  Is  a  solidly  organised  diges- 
tive apparatus  worth  less  for  purposes  of  happiness 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  287 

than  a  highly  developed  brain?  That  is  the 
question." 

"If  we  should  leave  it  to  a  duck  or  a  pig,  I  do  not 
doubt  they  would  decide  it  in  your  favour.  But  I'll 
ask  Benjamin  to  be  judge." 

"Your  song  suits  me  very  well,"  said  my  uncle : 

"  'Down  on  your  knees,  O  Christians,  down !' 

That  is  superb.  What  Christian  could  refuse  to 
kneel  when  you  invite  him  to  do  so  twice  in  a  line 
of  eight  syllables?  But  I  am  of  Arthus'  opinion. 
I  prefer  a  cutlet  in  papers." 

"A  joke  is  not  a  reply,"  said  Millot. 

"Well,  do  you  think  there  is  any  moral  sorrow 
that  causes  as  much  suffering  as  toothache  or  ear- 
ache? If  the  body  suffers  more  keenly  than  the  soul, 
it  must  likewise  enjoy  more  energetically.  That  is 
logic.  Pain  and  pleasure  result  from  the  same 
faculty." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "that  if  I  had  my 
choice  between  M.  Arthus'  stomach  and  the  over- 
oxygenated  brain  of  J.  J.  Rousseau,  I  should  take 
M.  Arthus'  stomach.  Sensitiveness  is  the  fac- 
ulty of  suffering.  To  be  sensitive  is  to  walk  bare- 
footed over  the  sharp  pebbles  of  life,  to  go  through 
the  crowd  with  an  open  wound  in  your  side  and  the 
people  jostling  against  you.  Man's  unhappiness  con- 
sists of  unsatisfied  desires.  Now,  every  soul  that 
feels  too  keenly  is  a  balloon  aspiring  to  mount  to 


288  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

heaven  but  unable  to  ascend  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
atmosphere.  Give  a  man  good  health  and  a  good 
appetite,  and  put  his  soul  to  sleep  forever,  and  he 
will  be  the  happiest  being  in  all  creation.  To  de- 
velop his  intelligence  is  to  sow  thorns  in  his  life.  The 
peasant  who  plays  at  skittles  is  happier  than  the  in- 
tellectual who  reads  a  fine  book." 

A  general  silence  followed  these  words. 

"Parlanta,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "how  does  my  case 
stand  against  Malthus?" 

"We  have  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,"  said  the 
sheriff's  officer. 

"Throw  all  the  documents  into  the  fire,  and  Ben- 
jamin will  pay  you  your  expenses.  And  you,  Rapin, 
how  is  my  affair  with  the  clergy  about  my  music  com- 
ing on?" 

"The  case  has  been  postponed  for  a  week,"  said 
Rapin. 

"Then  I  will  be  sentenced  by  default,"  answered 
M.  Minxit. 

"But  there  may  be  a  heavy  fine,"  said  Rapin. 
"The  sexton  testified  that  the  sergeant  insulted  the 
vicar  when  he  ordered  him  and  his  band  to  clear  the 
square  in  front  of  the  church." 

"That's  not  true,"  said  the  sergeant.  "I  only 
ordered  the  band  to  play  the  air,  'Where  are  you 
going,  Monsieur  Abbe?'  ' 

"In  that  case,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "Benjamin  will 
give  the  sexton  a  drubbing  at  the  first  opportunity 
that  offers  itself.  I  want  the  scamp  to  remember  me." 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  289 

They  had  reached  the  dessert.  M.  Minxit  had  a 
punch  made  and  poured  a  few  drops  of  the  flaming 
liquor  into  his  glass. 

"That's  bad  for  you,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said 
Machecourt. 

"What  can  be  bad  for  me  now,  my  good  Mache- 
court? I  must  say  good-bye  to  all  that  has  been 
dear  to  me  in  life." 

His  strength  was  rapidly  declining,  and  his  voice 
was  very  weak. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  what  I  have 
invited  you  for?  I  have  invited  you  to  my  funeral. 
I  have  had  beds  prepared  for  all  of  you,  so  that 
you  may  be  ready  to-morrow  morning  to  escort  me 
to  my  last  resting-place.  I  don't  want  anyone  to 
weep  over  my  death.  Wear  roses  in  your  coats  in- 
stead of  crape,  and,  after  wetting  the  leaves  in  a 
glass  of  champagne,  strew  them  over  my  grave.  It 
is  the  recovery  of  a  sick  man,  the  release  of  a  pris- 
oner from  his  captivity,  that  you  will  be  celebrating. 
By  the  way,  which  of  you  will  pronounce  my  funeral 
oration?" 

"It  ought  to  be  Page,"  said  some. 

"No,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  "Page  is  a  lawyer, 
and  at  the  grave  one  must  tell  the  truth.  I  prefer 
Benjamin." 

"I?"  said  my  uncle.    "You  know  I  am  no  orator." 

"You  are  a  good  enough  orator  for  me,"  an- 
swered M.  Minxit.  "Come,  speak  as  though  I  were 
already  lying  in  my  coffin.  It  will  give  me  great 


29o  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

pleasure  to  hear  what  posterity  will  say  of  me  while 
I  am  still  alive." 

"I  really  don't  know  what  to  say,"  said  Ben- 
jamin. 

"Say  what  you  like,  but  hurry  up,  for  I  feel  I  am 
dying." 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  'the  loss  of  the  man 
whom  we  are  laying  under  this  foliage  will  be  uni- 
versally lamented.'  ' 

"  'Universally  lamented'  is  not  good,"  said  M. 
Minxit.  "No  man  is  universally  lamented.  It's  a 
lie  fit  to  be  spoken  only  from  a  pulpit." 

"Do  you  prefer  'He  leaves  behind  him  friends  who 
will  mourn  him  a  long  time'?" 

"That's  less  pretentious,  but  no  more  exact.  For 
one  friend  who  loves  us  loyally  and  without  reserva- 
tion, we  have  twenty  secret  enemies  who,  like  a 
hunter  in  ambush,  await  in  silence  an  opportunity  to 
injure  us.  I  am  sure  there  are  in  this  village  many 
people  who  will  be  glad  I  have  died." 

"Well,  'He  leaves  behind  him  inconsolable 
friends,'  "  said  my  uncle. 

"  'Inconsolable'  is  still  a  lie,"  answered  M. 
Minxit.  "We  doctors  don't  know  what  part  of  our 
organism  it  is  that  grief  settles  in,  nor  how  it  makes 
us  suffer.  But  it  is  a  disease  that  is  cured  without 
treatment  and  very  quickly.  Most  griefs  are  only 
slight  scabs  on  ^he  heart  that  fall  almost  as  soon  as 
they  form.  None  are  inconsolable  except  fathers 
and  mothers  who  have  children  in  the  grave." 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  291 

"  'Who  will  long  preserve  your  memory.'  Does 
that  suit  you  better?" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "And  that 
you  may  preserve  this  memory  of  me  the  longer  I 
am  bequeathing  in  perpetuity  a  fund  for  a  dinner 
to  be  given  at  each  anniversary  of  my  death,  which 
all  of  you  are  to  attend  as  long  as  you  remain  in 
this  part  of  the  country.  I  have  made  Benjamin  the 
executor  of  my  will." 

"That's  better  than  a  mere  service,"  said  my 
uncle,  and  continued,  "  'I  will  not  speak  to  you  of 
his  virtues.'  ' 

"Say  'qualities,'  "  said  M.  Minxit.  "That  smacks 
less  of  an  exaggeration." 

"  'Nor  of  his  talents.  You  have  all  had  occasion 
to  appreciate  them.'  ' 

"Especially  Arthus,  from  whom  I  have  won 
forty-five  bottles  of  beer  at  billiards  within  the  last 
year." 

"  'I  will  not  tell  you  that  he  was  a  good  father. 
You  all  know  that  he  died  loving  his  daughter  too 
much.'  " 

"Alas!  Would  to  Heaven  that  were  true!"  an- 
swered M.  Minxit.  "But  the  deplorable  truth, 
which  I  cannot  conceal,  is  that  my  daughter  died 
because  I  did  not  love  her  enough.  I  acted  toward 
her  like  an  execrable  egoist.  She  loved  a  noble- 
man, and  I  did  not  want  her  to  marry  him  because 
I  detested  noblemen.  She  did  not  love  Benjamin, 
and  I  wanted  him  to  become  my  son-in-law  because 


292  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

I  loved  him.  But  I  hope  God  will  pardon  me.  We 
are~not  responsible  for  our  passions,  and  it  is  our 
passions  that  govern  our  reason.  We  must  obey 
the  instincts  God  has  given  us,  as  the  duck  obeys  the 
peremptory  instinct  which  pulls  it  to  the  river." 

"  'He  was  a  good  son,'  "  continued  my  uncle. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  said  M. 
Minxit.  "That's  the  way  epitaphs  and  funeral  ora- 
tions are  made.  The  paths  in  our  cemeteries  lined 
with  graves  and  cypresses  are  like  the  columns  of  a 
newspaper — full  of  lies  and  falsehoods.  The  fact  is 
I  never  knew  either  my  father  or  my  mother,  and  it 
has  not  been  clearly  established  that  I  was  born  of 
the  union  of  a  man  and  a  woman.  But  I  have  never 
complained  of  having  been  abandoned.  It  did  not 
prevent  me  from  making  my  way.  If  I  had  had  a 
family  I  should  perhaps  not  have  gone  so  far.  A 
family  hinders  and  thwarts  you  in  a  thousand  ways. 
You  must  act  according  to  its  ideas,  and  not  accord- 
ing to  your  own,  you  are  not  free  to  follow  your 
vocation,  and  it  often  turns  you  into  a  path  where 
you  get  stuck  in  the  mud  at  the  very  first  step  you 
take." 

"  'He  was  a  good  husband,'  "  said  my  uncle. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "I 
married  my  wife  without  loving  her,  and  I 
never  loved  her  much;  but  she  always  had  her  way 
with  me.  When  she  wanted  a  dress  she  bought  one. 
When  a  servant  displeased  her  she  discharged  him. 
If  that  makes  a  good  husband  so  much  the  better. 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  293 

But  I  shall  soon  know  what  God  thinks  about 
it." 

"  'He  has  been  a  good  citizen/  "said  my  uncle. 
"  'You  have  been  witnesses  of  the  zeal  with  which 
he  has  laboured  to  spread  ideas  of  reform  and  lib- 
erty among  the  people.'  ' 

"You  can  say  that  now  without  compromising 
me." 

"  Twill  not  say  that  he  was  a  good  friend.'  ' 

"What  will  you  say  then?"  said  M.  Minxit. 

"A  moment's  patience,"  said  Benjamin.  '  'He 
has  succeeded  in  winning  the  favour  of  fortune  by 
his  intelligence.'  ' 

"Not  exactly  my  intelligence,"  said  M.  Minxit, 
"although  it's  just  as  good  as  somebody  else's.  I 
have  profited  by  men's  credulity.  That  requires  au- 
dacity rather  than  intelligence." 

"  'And  his  wealth  has  always  been  at  the  service 
of  the  unfortunate.'  ' 

M.  Minxit  gave  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  'He  has  lived  like  a  philosopher,  enjoying  life 
and  making  the  people  around  him  enjoy  it,  and 
he  died  like  a  philosopher,  too,  after  a  grand  feast, 
surrounded  by  his  friends.  Wayfarers,  drop  a 
flower  on  his  grave.'  ' 

"That's  pretty  nearly  right,"  said  M.  Minxit. 
"Now,  gentlemen,  let's  drink  the  parting  glass  and 
wish  me  a  pleasant  journey." 

He  ordered  the  sergeant  to  carry  him  to  his  bed. 
My  uncle  wanted  to  follow  him,  but  he  would  not 


294  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN 

hear  of  it,  and  insisted  that  they  should  all  remain 
at  table  until  the  next  day. 

An  hour  later  he  sent  for  Benjamin,  who  hurried 
to  his  bedside.  M.  Minxit  had  only  time  to  take 
his  hand,  and  then  he  expired. 

The  next  morning,  as  M.  Minxit's  coffin,  sur- 
rounded by  his  friends  and  followed  by  a  long  pro- 
cession of  peasants,  was  about  to  be  taken  out  of 
the  house,  the  priest  appeared  at  the  door,  and  or- 
dered the  bearers  to  take  the  body  to 'the  church- 
yard. 

"But  M.  Minxit  does  not  want  to  go  to  the 
churchyard,"  said  my  uncle.  "He  is  going  to  his 
field,  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  interfere." 

The  priest  protested  that  the  remains  of  a  Chris- 
tian must  rest  only  in  consecrated  ground. 

"Is  the  ground  to  which  we  carry  M.  Minxit  less 
consecrated  than  yours?  Do  not  the  flowers  and 
the  grass  grow  there  as  well  as  in  the  churchyard?" 

"Do  you  want  your  friend  to  be  damned?"  asked 
the  priest. 

"Allow  me,"  said  my  uncle.  "M.  Minxit  has  been 
in  the  presence  of  God  since  yesterday,  and  unless 
his  case  has  been  postponed  for  a  week,  he  has  al- 
ready been  judged.  If  he  has  been  damned,  your 
funeral  ceremony  cannot  revoke  his  sentence,  and  if 
he  has  been  saved,  then  what  is  the  use  of  the  cere- 
mony?" 

The  priest  cried  that  Benjamin  was  an  impious 
man,  and  ordered  the  peasants  to,  leave.  All  obeyed, 


A  FINAL  FESTIVAL  295 

and  the  bearers  were  disposed  to  follow  their  ex- 
ample. But  my  uncle  drew  his  sword  and  said: 

"The  bearers  have  been  paid  to  carry  the  body 
to  its  last  resting-place,  and  they  must  earn  their 
money.  If  they  do  their  work  right,  they  will  each 
get  half  a  crown,  but  if  anyone  shirks,  I  will  beat 
him  with  the  flat  of  my  sword  till  he  falls  to  the 
ground." 

The  bearers  gave  in,  more  frightened  by  Benja- 
min's threats  than  even  by  the  priest's,  and  M. 
Minxit  was  laid  in  his  grave  with  all  the  formalities 
Benjamin  prescribed. 

On  his  return  from  the  funeral,  my  uncle  had  an 
income  of  ten  thousand  francs.  We  shall  see  later, 
perhaps,  what  use  he  made  of  his  fortune. 


THE  END 


